THE 

PRIZE, 

TO 

THE 

HARDY 


By  ALICE  WINTER 


THE  PRIZE  TO  THE  HARDY 


VERA 


Copyright  1905 
The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 


January 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


TO  T.  G.  W. 


M53184O 


"  I  sing  New  England,  as  she  lights  her  fire 
In  every  prairie's  midst" 


THE  PRIZE  TO  THE  HARDY 


2  THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

that  seemed  to  belong  both  to  the  girl  and  to  the  hour. 
Vera  was  at  the  piano,  where  the  aquiline  outlines  of 
her  face  against  a  latticed  window  beyond,  the  dusky 
white  of  her  evening  gown  and  bare  arms,  the  very 
curve  at  the  back  of  her  neck,  raised  in  his  memory 
the  old  vision — the  vision  of  a  day  long  years  ago. 
Through  the  scintillating  mist  in  his  eyes  he  looked 
at  it.  He  seemed  to  see  himself  in  the  level  lights  and 
shadows  of  late  afternoon,  peeping  through  untamed 
underbrush  at  a  half-breed  girl  in  a  dingy,  straggling 
gown,  raising  and  twisting  just  such  arms  and  neck  as 
Vera's,  as  she  shook  the  wild  rice  into  a  much  patched 
canoe.  Like  the  notes  of  the  piano  was  the  wild  song 
she  sang,  partly  music  and  partly  the  murmur  of  her 
self-communings ;  and  he,  on  the  shore,  followed  her 
progress  among  the  shallows,  as  she  pushed  her  boat 
through  the  water-growing  stalks,  that  bent  and 
snapped  before  her  birchen  prow. 

Her  beauty  caught  him  like  that  of  the  wild  country 
into  which  he  had  come.  He  could  see  the  dazzling 
blue  of  the  clear  Minnesota  sky  that  Indian-summer 
day;  he  could  see  the  very  cockle-burs  and  the  wild 
pink  plants  over  which  he  stumbled ;  he  could  see  the 
sedges  that  rose  between  himself  and  her,  the  straight 
leafless  bulrushes  beyond  her,  and,  farther,  the  ruffled 
edges  of  the  lily  pads.  Still  beyond  he  saw  the  fringed, 


A   VISION    FROM    THE    PAST  3 

far-away  lake-shore,  where  yellow  flames  of  birches, 
scarlet  maples  and  the  polished  bronze  of  oaks  lost 
themselves  in  no  mystery  of  horizon,  but  stood  sharply 
outlined  as  was  this  Indian  girl's  head.  Among  the 
trees  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  whiff  of  smoke,  the  top 
of  a  tepee,  a  lazy  brave  lying  on  the  shore  and  indo 
lently  teasing  a  dog  that  snarled  and  snapped  in 
friendly  response.  The  very  sounds  came  crisply 
through  the  air,  and  the  quick  lapping  of  the  water 
played  an  accompaniment  to  the  girl's  song.  It  was  a 
sparkling,  clear-cut  landscape,  where  the  very  air  he 
breathed,  instinct  with  life  and  vigor,  seemed  to 
sharpen  a  man's  senses  and  spur  his  blood. 

But  at  that  time  he  was  not  thinking  of  the  artistic 
setting  of  his  unconscious  rice-gatherer.  After  weeks 
of  chopping  trees  and  grubbing  roots,  after  the  rough 
pioneer  scramble  for  food  and  shelter,  and  the  still 
rougher  company  of  loud-voiced  men  who  were  shar 
ing  his  struggle  for  the  elements  of  civilization  here 
in  the  northern  wilderness,  the  thought  uppermost  in 
his  mind  was  that  it  was  good  to  hear  a  woman  sing, 
be  she  but  a  high-cheeked  half-breed,  slaving  for  her 
men.  Around  a  promontory  shot  the  canoe,  sinking 
ever  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  water-line  as  its  burden 
grew  heavier,  and,  with  the  noiseless  tread  which  the 
trapper  learned  from  his  savage  enemy  lest  a  snap- 


4  THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

ping  twig  should  betray  him,  he  followed  over  ground 
that  looked  like  gold  from  the  falling  yellow  leaves. 
She  caught  a  low-bending  branch  and  twisted  her 
self  with  the  grace  of  a  wild  animal  to  pass  below 
it;  and  now  the  canoe  tipped  to  the  point  where  a 
ragged  tear  in  its  aged  side  let  in  a  flood  of  water. 
The  girl  uttered  a  quick  cry,  and  he  gallantly  waded 
waist  deep  among  the  tangled  weeds.  The  blush  that 
met  his  rude  chivalry  filled  him  witH  half-forgotten, 
strange  emotions.  Love  there  was  as  simple  and  spon 
taneous  a  growth  as  the  virgin  forests  around  them. 

How  simple  a  thing  it  had  then  seemed  that  she 
should  come  to  share  his  cabin  and  his  rough  life  and 
humbly  to  accept  the  crumbs  of  a  white  man's  kind 
ness!  How  natural  it  was  then;  how  remote  and  un 
thinkable  now !  With  half-shut  eyes  he  wholly  forgot 
the  girl  at  the  piano  as  he  recalled  the  gentleness,  the 
faithfulness,  the  loving  service  of  that  other  girl,  long 
dead.  Had  anything  in  later  life  been  better  than  their 
elemental  love?  Painted  on  something  deeper  than 
memory  was  the  little  log  hut  where  they  had  shared 
two  low-roofed  rooms  and  the  crude  furniture  that  he 
hewed  out  with  his  own  hands.  He  heard  again  her 
words  as  she  leaned  her  dark  head  against  his  shoulder 
and  told  him,  shyly  and  happily,  of  that  which  was 
coming  to  them  out  of  the  eternal  mystery.  His  own 


A   VISION    FROM    THE    PAST  5 

Puritan  conscience,  half-stifled  out  here  on  the  fron 
tier,  awoke  to  sudden  life  and  cried  aloud  to  him,  as 
it  did  that  night,  when  he  realized  that  he  was  to  be 
the  father  of  a  nameless  child.  The  other  men  laughed 
at  his  qualms ;  she  did  not  understand  them ;  but  he 
knew.  He  opened  his  eyes  suddenly  now  in  the  warm 
room  and,  startled,  stared  at  his  daughter,  all  uncon 
scious  of  these  dead  happenings,  all  ignorant  of  the 
simple-hearted  mother,  whose  little  dream  of  happi 
ness  had  ended  when  her  baby's  life  began.  Most  of 
the  time  he  forgot  her  himself.  But  he  shivered  to 
think  what  it  would  mean  to  him  if  this  gracious  pres 
ence,  who  had  built  up  the  thing  called  home  around 
him,  had  been  from  the  first  an  outcast.  "Thank  God, 
I  married  her  before  Vera  was  born !"  he  muttered. 

She  saw  or  felt  his  movement  and,  rising,  went  and 
flung  her  arms  around  him. 

"That  was  wonderful,  wasn't  it  ?"  she  cried.  "Those 
bars  were  true  October — a  shudder  at  the  thought  of 
winter  coming,  and  a  delicious  dreamy  touch  of  Indian 
summer !" 

"Perhaps— perhaps.  Is  that  what  it  meant?  I  con 
fess  I  wasn't  paying  much  attention  to  your  music, 
Vera."  His  voice  was  commonplace  and  prosperous 
in  spite  of  the  very  gentle  emotions  that  had  been  surg 
ing  within  him.  "I  don't  pretend  to  understand  those 


6  THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

things,  you  know.  But  somehow  it  set  me  to  thinking 
of  other  things  and  times." 

"What  wonderful  things  and  times?"  she  asked, 
with  a  warm  and  welcome  arm  about  his  neck;  for 
was  he  not  her  only  parent,  and  was  she  not  the  one 
touch  of  romance  that  leavened  his  prosperous  career? 

"I  never  get  over  a  kind  of  astonishment  to  think  of 
the  changes  I  have  seen.  Can  you  realize  that  when 
I  came  here  there  was  nothing  but  a  few  scrub  oaks 
and  a  few  shabby  huts?  Why,  in  those  days  they 
didn't  even  know  you  could  grow  wheat  in  Minnesota, 
and  now — " 

She  clapped  the  embracing  hand  over  his  mouth 
and  sprang  up  in  amused  indignation.  Her  father  had 
not  the  gift  of  poetic  expression,  being  very  much  a 
man  of  deeds  rather  than  words. 

"And  you  think  I  am  going  to  leave  the  finest  of 
arts  to  listen  while  you  tell  me  what  land  is  worth  a 
front  foot  on  Lesseur  Street,  and  how  many  hundred 
thousand  people  we  have  by  the  last  census,  and  how 
many  million  feet  of  lumber  passed  through  the  mills 
last  year?  If  that  is  what  all  my  music  sets  you  to 
thinking  of,  I  will  hire  a  hurdy-gurdy  to  play  beneath 
your  windows,  love,  next  time!" 

He  struggled  laughingly  away  from  the  repeated 
shakes  with  which  she  emphasized  her  feelings. 


A   VISION    FROM   THE   PAST  7 

"I'm  a  humdrum  old  dad,  ain't  I,  Vera?  But  per 
haps  I  can  retort,  Miss,  that  there  is  dramatic  point 
in  the  thought  that  one  man's  memory  can  span  the 
leap  from  Indian  warfare  to  the  life  of  a  great  city. 
I've  been  through  it  all.  It's  grained  into  me,  and  it 
isn't  all  business  enterprise,  I  can  tell  you.  There  is 
a  heap  of  romance  and  tragedy  and  living  goes  with 
it.  And  I  dare  say  you  ain't  any  sorrier  than  I  am  that 
I  am  a  rich  man,  instead  of  the  rough  adventurer  who 
made  your  first  cradle  out  of  a  hollow  log."  He  looked 
whimsically  down  the  long  room,  and  they  both  fell 
into  silence  as  a  servant  transformed  the  dimness  of 
a  moment  before  into  brilliancy. 

"We  didn't  have  palms  and  Persian  rugs  in  those 
days,  I  can  tell  you."  His  vision  came  back  to  the  girl 
who  stood  with  downcast  eyes  before  him.  "And  your 
mother  thought  I  was  too  good  to  live  because  I  occa 
sionally  helped  her  to  wash  the  dishes,  and  wouldn't 
let  her  chop  her  own  wood.  People  don't  seem  to 
think  I'm  too  good  to  live  nowadays.  It's  an  unappre- 
ciative  world.  You  don't  altogether  like  to  remember 
it,  do  you,  little  girl?"  he  said  gently.  "But  to  me  you 
are  the  most  astonishing  part  of  the  whole  business. 
Where  on  earth  did  you  get  your  music  and  your  air, 
and  all  the  rest  of  it  ?  Why,  you're  a  fairy  tale,  Vera !" 
She  grew  even  paler  as  he  stared  at  her.  It  is  no  easy 


8  THE   PRIZE   TO   THE    HARDY 

thing  to  a  girl  who  has  been  delicately  nurtured  for  as 
long  a  time  as  her  memory  goes,  who  has  traveled  and 
grown  familiar  with  all  that  makes  life  and  the  world, 
to  carry  in  her  breast  such  a  sense  of  incongruity  as 
Vera  bore — to  know  that  one-quarter  of  her  was  of 
the  savage  forest,  that  the  strain  of  Indian  blood  was 
as  visible  to  her  own  consciousness  as  it  was  in  her 
face,  whose  beauty  it  marked  but  did  not  mar.  The 
touch  that  differentiates  one  from  his  fellows  counts 
so  much!  Sometimes  she  felt  herself  a  thing  apart. 
Yet  she  was  ashamed  of  that  very  shame  of  hers  at 
her  birth. 

A  New  England  conscience  grafted  on  a  western 
tree  is  a  troublesome  alien  growth.  Vera  loved  out-of- 
doors,  she  loved  the  physical  exhilaration  of  winter 
sports,  she  loved  laughter ;  but  a  peaked-hatted,  long- 
visaged  conscience  with  a  confident  assurance  that 
convinced  both  her  and  himself  of  the  truth  of  his 
Puritan  doctrine,  told  her  that  whatever  was  agree 
able  was  wrong.  Being  a  self-willed  young  person, 
she  did  what  she  liked,  but  she  never  failed  to  see 
that  sour-faced  creature  watching  her  from  his  corner. 

But  of  late  a  new  revelation  had  come — a  revelation 
that  she  hoped  would  reconcile  her  with  this  reproach 
ful  conscience.  She  had  found  a  new  friend,  a  woman 
older  and  wiser  than  herself,  who  assured  her  that 


A   VISION    FROM    THE    PAST  9 

the  conflict  between  her  higher  and  lower  natures  was 
but  the  prelude  to  something  better.  Mrs.  Lyell  was 
ecstatic.  She  lived  on  a  plane  where  sordid  every-day 
considerations  played  only  a  minor  part.  She  had  at 
tached  her  trolley  to  some  celestial  wire  that  whirled 
her  along  the  heavenly  way ;  and  Vera  began  to  hope 
that  she  might  clamber  aboard  the  same  roseate  car 
and  leave  her  conscience  to  trudge  along  on  foot  far 
behind  her.  But  as  yet  that  triumphant  stage  had  not 
been  reached.  The  worldly  in  her  was  still  unsubdued. 
She  enjoyed  the  box  of  chocolates  that  stood  on  the 
piano  while  she  played  Chopin.  The  body  was  yet  tan 
gible.  And  so  the  struggle  between  nature  and  educa 
tion  went  on  below  the  surface,  while  outwardly  she 
bore  herself  with  a  dignity  straightforward  yet  re 
strained,  unconscious  of  the  charm  that  had  come  to 
her  from  the  mingling  of  the  Puritan  and  the  red  man. 

Now  this  was  not  the  philosophy  which  old  Nicholas 
Windsor  had  built  up  out  of  his  experience  of  men  and 
things ;  but  he  loved  her,  and  love  lent  him  sympathy 
with  her  mood,  though,  after  his  kind,  his  sympathy 
found  prosaic  expression.  With  intent  to  change  her 
thoughts,  he  said : 

"By  the  way,  Vera,  a  sort  of  cousin  of  mine  from 
down  in  Maine  turned  up  at  the  office  to-day,  and  I 
told  him  to  come  up  to  dinner.  Thought  I'd  like  to 


io          THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

have  a  chance  to  get  a  little  better  acquainted  with' 
him.  He  seemed  a  very  decent  kind  of  chap,  rather 
better  than  the  average.  Will  you  order  an  extra 
plate?" 

Vera's  lips  curled  scornfully.  They  could  sometimes 
look  as  aquiline  as  her  nose. 

"I  should  think  the  whole  of  Maine  was  populated 
with  impoverished  cousins  of  yours  by  the  way  they 
'turn  up  at  the  office'.  They  seem  to  consider  you  a 
career.  And  it's  rather  too  bad  to  have  a  stranger  to 
night.  Mrs.  Lyell  and  Mr.  Kemyss  are  coming  to  din 
ner  too." 

"Kemyss  coming  to  dinner  again?"  the  old  man 
asked  sharply.  "I  didn't  suppose  he'd  had  time  to  get 
hungry  since  he  was  here  before.  Can't  he  get  any 
thing  to  eat  at  his  boarding-house?  I  didn't  agree  to 
give  him  his  board  in  addition  to  his  salary."  He 
looked  at  her  with  mingled  tenderness  and  anxiety  and 
took  an  agitated  turn  down  the  long  room.  "What 
does  this  Kemyss  business  mean,  Vera?"  he  asked 
wistfully. 

She  pushed  him  back  to  his  chair  and  seated  herself 
in  his  lap. 

"I'm  glad  you  asked  me  that,"  she  said.  "It  makes 
it  easier  for  me  to  break  the  silence.  Mr.  Kemyss  has 
asked  me  to  be  his  wife.  Was  I  a  naughty  girl  not 


A   VISION    FROM   THE    PAST  n 

to  tell  you,  dad  ?  I  have  not  said  a  word  even  to  Eu 
genia,  and  I've  been  frying  to  get  up  courage  to  con 
sult  you,  but  you're  such  a  savage  old  bear  of  a 
father !" 

"And  you've  accepted  him,  Vera, — and  not  told 
me?"  Her  father's  arm  tightened  around  her,  and  he 
tried  to  keep  the  hurt  tone  out  of  his  voice.  It  wasn't 
like  Vera. 

"No,  dad,  I  haven't  decided  yet,"  she  said  as  he 
looked  his  grateful  relief.  "What  am  I  to  say  ?  What 
do  you  want  me  to  say?" 

"The  only  object  I'm  hunting  for  on  this  earth  is 
for  you  to  have  any  mortal  thing  you  want,  and  you 
know  it.  I'd  buy  you  anything  you  could  mention,  but 
when  it  comes  to  husbands,  I'm  afraid,  little  girl,  you'll 
have  to  do  your  own  picking.  You  don't  want  the 
kind  I  can  buy  for  you." 

"Well,  that  does  not  answer  my  question.  Way  up 
here,  in  this  big  empty  space  you  call  your  mind,  what 
is  your  opinion  of  Mr.  Kemyss  ?"  She  tapped  his  fore 
head  sharply,  feeling  quite  gay  and  frivolous,  now 
that  the  ice  was  broken,  and  she  and  her  father  could 
talk  freely. 

"I  can  produce  one  useful  piece  of  wisdom  out  of 
that  maligned  quarter.  You  don't  care  a  button  for 
him,  or  you  wouldn't  be  here  asking  my  advice.  You'd 


12          THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

be  pawing  the  air  and  defying  me  to  stop  you  from 
having  him." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  girl  wearily.  "He  always 
seems  to  understand  without  the  explanations  you  have 
to  give  most  men,  and  he  feels  just  as  I  do  about 
things  in  general.  He's  very  good  to  look  at,  too,  don't 
you  think  so,  dad?  He  seems  just  the  kind  of  man 
who  ought  to  suit  me." 

"He  isn't  half  good  enough  for  you.  If  you  have 
to  get  married,  which,  mind  you,  I  don't  for  a  moment 
admit,  I  wish  I  could  get  a  man  made  to  order  for  you, 
straight  from  the  higher  regions.  And  I  don't  want 
none  of  your  angels  either.  I  want  a  man.  But  they're 
not  so  plentiful  as  you  might  think  by  the  number  of 
things  in  trousers  that  you  see  on  the  streets.  You'll 
have  to  stay  with  your  old  dad,  Vera — he's  the  only 
one  who  really  suits  you.  He's  the  one  who  really 
understands  you.  He  needs  you  so  badly  that  he  can't 
get  along  without  you.  Nobody  else  needs  you  as 
badly  as  I  do,  little  girl." 

"Jean  thinks  Mr.  Kemyss  perfection,"  Vera  an 
swered  ;  "I  know  she  does.  She  says  he  is  one  of  the 
few  men  she  knows  who  has  soul  enough  to  be  im 
mortal  with.  She  does  not  want  me  to  marry  a  piece 
of  earth." 

"Well,  I'm  not  on  the  lookout  for  a  mud-pie  son- 


A   VISION    FROM    THE    PAST  13 

in-law  myself ;  but  I  never  noticed  that  Kemyss'  soul 
stuck  out  any  farther  than  the  next  man's,  when  he's 
at  the  office.  I  don't  know  how  it  may  be  in  those 
sacred  conclaves  where  you  three  discuss  the  stars." 

"Well,  sir,  the  subject  is  laid  on  the  table  for  the 
present.  I  told  him  that  I  would  take  plenty  of  time 
to  think  it  over,  and  he's  not  even  to  speak  of  it  for — 
oh,  ever  so  long." 

"I  believe  I'll  send  Kemyss  to  the  north  pole  on  per 
manent  business.  But  I  suppose  if  you've  put  him  in 
cold  storage,  I  can't  ask  anything  more.  Which  re 
minds  me,  I  had  a  hundred  prairie  chickens  put  in  to 
day.  We'll  pick  their  bones  later  on.  Vera,  I  believe 
the  kind  of  husband  who  would  suit  you  best,  if  you 
really  want  my  advice,  would  be  a  good  practical 
hard-headed  drummer." 

He  had  been  dreading  for  a  long  time  the  moment 
when  his  little  girl  should  spread  her  wings.  It  was 
a  relief  that  it  had  not  yet  come. 

"And  you,  you  frivolous  old  man,  you'd  better  be 
dressing  for  dinner  or  you'll  be  disgraced  when  the 
others  come." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  me!  I'll  eat  dinner  in  my 
shirt-sleeves  if  I  feel  like  it.  I  used  to  do  it,  in  those 
good  old  times  we  were  talking  about,  when  you 
weren't  here  to  make  me  walk  a  chalk  line  and  pretend 


14          THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

I'm  civilized.  I'll  defy  you,  and  do  it  again  to-night  if 
I  want  to.  A  man  can't  look  like  very  small  change 
when  he's  got  as  many  millions  as  I  have  salted  down. 
I've  lived  long  enough  in  this  cold  hard  world  to  learn 
that,  young  lady."  And  he  departed  with  dignity  to 
his  room. 


CHAPTER  II 

* 

A  VISION  OF  TO-DAY 

It  was  on  this  very  October  day,  beginning  in  sun 
shine  and  ending  in  cloud,  that  Francis  Lenox  arrived 
in  St.  Etienne. 

Age  may  sneer  at  the  crudities  of  youth  and  com 
fortably  congratulate  herself  on  her  higher  outlook; 
but  youth  laughs  in  his  frivolous  sleeve  at  her  superi 
ority,  knowing  well  that  the  sour  grapes  he  dangles 
before  her  spectacled  eyes  are  the  most  luscious  of 
fruits.  To  be  young  is  in  itself  answer  to  all  the  spe 
cious  arguments  that  reason  may  set  up  on  the  other 
side,  for  youth  creates  while  age  but  dissipates;  best 
of  all,  youth  believes  in  himself,  while  age  pitifully 
admits  her  failure.  So  St.  Etienne  knew  itself  young, 
and  rejoiced  therein,  like  the  strong  man  who  is  to  run 
a  race. 

Perhaps  Hercules  led  a  more  amusing  life  when, 
as  an  infant,  he  was  strangling  serpents  than  when,  in 
experienced  maturity,  he  cleaned  Augean  stables  in 

15 


16  THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

bondage  to  Eurystheus.  The  glory  of  the  imperfect, 
let  it  once  get  possession  of  the  imagination,  has  a 
charm  of  its  own.  It  lures  the  traveler  on  and  on.  It 
intoxicates  with  the  joy  of  doing — the  greatest  joy 
there  is.  It  paints  the  possible  in  rainbow  hues  un 
matched  by  the  actual. 

When  Francis  Lenox  came  to  St.  Etienne  the  town 
was  young,  yet  old  enough  to  be  sure  that  it  was  a 
precocious  infant,  and  Lenox,  himself  young,  fell  into 
ready  sympathy  with  his  surroundings.  He  was  born 
and  bred  in  a  little  college  town  in  Maine,  in  an  at 
mosphere  both  conventional  and  bookish,  and  yet  only 
superficially  scholarly.  At  least  it  knew  but  the  schol 
arship  of  books,  being  much  shut  off  from  the  deeper 
wisdom  which  lies  behind  the  printed  page  in  the  surg 
ing  life  of  men.  For  it  the  doings  of  men  were  chiefly 
reduced  to  gossip.  It  reversed  the  rightful  process, 
and  instead  of  measuring  books  by  the  amount  of  life 
in  them,  it  measured  life  by  the  amount  of  book-lore  it 
held.  Lenox  had  always  lived  a  life  that,  to  him,  meant 
partial  suffocation.  Here  the  very  sun-imbued  air, 
glowing  and  fresh,  stimulated  every  sense,  as  after  a 
pent-up  night  in  a  sleeping-car,  the  train  disgorged 
him  into  the  radiance  of  an  early  Minnesota  morning, 
where  the  untamed  virility  of  the  fresh  northwest, 
like  ether,  pervaded  the  atmosphere. 


A   VISION   OF   TO-DAY  17 

There  was  an  unwonted  sense  of  isolation  from  his 
kind  to  the  home-bred  boy,  even  in  the  preliminary 
manoeuvers  of  finding  a  hotel  and  eating  breakfast  in 
the  big  room  rilled  with  indifferent  strangers.  When 
one  is  without  belongings,  a  new  city  takes  on  an  al 
most  foreign  aspect.  One  regards  it  from  the  outside. 
In  truth  a  western  town  is  enough  of  a  curious  phe 
nomenon  to  merit  some  peculiar  emotions,  even  if  it 
has  less  individuality  than  St.  Etienne,  which  bears 
its  brief  history  and  its  ruling  passion  as  clearly 
stamped  upon  its  face  as  any  hoary  ruin  of  the  past. 

Lenox  began  a  solitary  ramble  through  the  crowded 
and  noisy  streets,  feeling  like  a  stranger  in  a  strange 
land.  It  was  evident  that  the  town  had  grown  too  fast 
for  its  clothes.  The  city  and  the  village  vied  with  each 
other  and  the  city  was  but  a  few  laps  ahead.  The 
young  man  stared  curiously  at  the  little  wooden  shan 
ties  that  nestled  half-confidingly,  half-shamefacedly 
against  their  neighbor  sky-scraping  office  buildings  of 
granite  and  marble,  as  though  St.  Etienne  should  say : 
"This  is  what  I  was.  Look  at  me  now !  Imagine  what 
I  shall  be !"  Like  a  true  westerner,  St.  Etienne  wrote 
the  "Imagine  what  I  shall  be"  in  capitals. 

Lenox  trod  lightly  on  the  latest  device  in  paving  for 
a  block  or  two  and  picked  his  way  over  lumpy  mud  a 
little  farther  on.  His  eyes  followed  a  dashing  turn-out 


i8  THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

with  immaculate  coachman  as  it  flew  down  the  wide 
straggling  street.  Then  he  gazed  at  a  strange  ante 
diluvian  farm-wagon  standing  before  a  spectacular 
shop  window.  Still  farther  afield  he  went  from  the 
roar  of  the  electric  car  and  the  rush  of  feet  toward 
those  miles  of  comfortable  homes  for  every-day  peo 
ple  which  are  characteristic  of  America,  the  land  of 
the  every-day  man.  He  climbed  the  hilltops  that  sur 
rounded  the  city,  where  houses  that  in  Europe  would 
be  called  palaces  rose  in  more  pretentious  state,  their 
polished  lawns  interspersed  with  unkempt,  empty  lots 
where  Russian  thistle,  burdock  and  ragweed  rioted  un 
disturbed.  It  was  a  strange  bundle  of  incongruities, 
this  St.  Etienne,  a  city  of  one  generation,  where  the 
things  that  no  one  had  yet  had  time  to  attend  to  hung 
about  on  every  side  waiting  until  civilization  got  time 
to  pick  up  its  loose  bits  of  chaos. 

His  mind  went  back  to  the  great  elms  of  the  main 
street  of  Winterhaven,  and  the  trim  line,  lawn  after 
lawn,  stately  house  after  stately  house,  that  flanked  it. 
But  new  as  all  this  was,  here  too  was  something  home 
like.  This  overgrown  youngster  was  the  child  of  that 
respectable  dame,  less  precise  than  his  mother,  but 
more  virile;  less  courteous,  but  more  spontaneously 
generous.  As  Lenox  sat  on  a  hilltop,  his  back  com 
fortably  set  against  a  scrub  oak  decorated  by  a  huge 


A   VISION   OF   TO-DAY  19 

"For  Sale"  sign  that  proclaimed  a  much-vaunted  cor 
ner  lot,  he  forgot  these  commoner  features  to  stare 
at  the  great  structures  which  showed  why  St.  Etienne 
had  come  to  be.  Everywhere  they  rose,  engirdling  the 
city  in  all  directions,  ungainly  monsters,  gray,  ele 
phant-like,  the  elevators  that  carried  in  their  huge 
maws  untold  stores  of  yellow  grain  for  the  bread  of 
the  world.  From  season  to  season  this  son  of  the 
prairies  renewed  his  strength,  like  a  giant  Antaeus, 
by  contact  with  mother  earth  and  hoarded  his  heritage 
here,  making  of  himself,  while  still  in  his  youth,  a 
feeder  of  nations.  No  wonder  he  believed  in  himself! 
No  wonder  he  was  broad  and  big-hearted  and  hope 
ful! 

Lenox  stood  up  on  his  hill-crest  and  counted  the 
big  buildings,  as  many  as  he  could  see.  There  stole 
over  him  a  little  of  the  true  American  awe  for  the  mil 
lions  of  bushels  of  wheat  here  stored  before  his  eyes 
and  the  millions  of  dollars  of  which  they  were  the 
visible  token.  Far  northward,  where  the  twisting  river 
gleamed  like  a  serpent's  scales,  lay  pale  yellowish 
tracts  of  piled  lumber,  edged  by  big  mills. 

Now  he  knew  why  he  had  come  to  St.  Etienne.  He 
was  no  longer  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land.  This  was 
his  field  to  work.  Hitherto  he  had  peeped  at  this  phase 
only  through  other  men's  eyes;  but  life  was  not  an 


20  THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

ordered  existence,  to  be  devoted  solely  to  discussing 
the  classics,  and  keeping  up  with  the  magazines.  It 
was  a  maelstrom,  with  Scylla  shrieking  and  reaching 
out  her  slimy  fingers  and  Charybdis  whirling  below, 
— and  yet,  get  into  it  one  must  if  the  man  is  to  take 
the  place  of  the  college  boy.  His  time  was  come,  and 
he  dreaded  the  plunge. 

He  fumbled  a  little  nervously  at  a  letter  in  his 
pocket.  His  mother  had  written  and  rewritten  it,  that 
it  should  prove  at  once  appealing  and  unsubservient 
to  the  great  cousin  to  whom  it  was  addressed.  It  had 
seemed  an  easy  thing,  fifteen  hundred  miles  away  in  a 
placid  little  town,  to  take  St.  Etienne  and  Nicholas 
Windsor  by  storm.  Now  as  he  looked  down  on  the 
tumultuous  life  below  him,  the  undertaking  did  not 
look  so  simple.  He  sat  down  again  to  think  about  it. 
As  he  pieced  together  the  bits  of  information  that  lay 
scattered  in  his  brain  he  felt  as  if  he  were  witnessing 
the  great  drama  of  Nicholas  Windsor's  career,  with 
St.  Etienne,  lying  glowing  in  the  sunlight  below,  as  the 
scenic  background. 

Of  course,  everybody  knows,  at  least  in  outline,  the 
facts  of  Windsor's  life.  In  Master-Builders  of  the 
Great  Republic,  a  book  that  has  had  an  extensive  sale, 
through  agents  in  the  country  districts,  and  which 
may  be  found  in  all  public  libraries  under  the  caption 


A   VISION   OF   TO-DAY  21 

"Collected  Biographies,"  it  is  said  that  "his  history  is 
one  of  the  most  striking  examples  of  the  success  with 
which  America  rewards  energy,  brains  and  persist 
ence."  He  is  an  embodiment  of  all  that  toward  which 
young  Jonathan  should  aspire — power  and  wealth. 
What  need  to  analyze  or  cavil?  As  so  prominent  a 
figure  in  the  up-building  of  the  Northwest,  his  life  has 
been  again  and  again  subjected  to  what  the  news 
papers  call  "the  lime-light  of  publicity";  and  many 
events  that  never  took  place  are  quite  as  familiar  to  the 
eager  public  as  the  more  prosaic  details.  It  seems  im 
portant  that  we  should  be  kept  informed  that  he  re 
tains  his  boyhood's  affection  for  baked  apples,  and 
that  magazines  should  extract  from  him  brief  articles 
on  How  I  earned  my  first  dollar. 

Many  of  his  fellow  citizens,  chiefly,  be  it  said,  those 
whose  careers  are  least  marked  by  success,  regard  him 
as  a  monster,  striding,  dragon-like,  over  groaning 
widows  and  orphans,  over  wrecked  railroads  and 
ruined  investors  toward  his  goal — domain.  Others 
there  be  of  more  lenient  judgment,  or  perhaps  of  less 
sensitive  conscience,  who  maintain  that  when  a  man 
has  laid  the  foundations  of  a  great  civilization  where 
once  stood  a  wilderness,  when  he  has  scattered  mills 
and  farms  along  streams  and  prairies,  when  his  far  pre 
vision  has  gazed  on  possibilities  where  his  neighbors 


22  THE    PRIZE   TO    THE    HARDY 

saw  nothing  but  their  bald  surroundings,  such  a  man 
has  come  fairly  by  his  millions  and  gained  his  power 
by  the  tacit  consent  of  his  fellows. 

But  Francis  Lenox  knew  of  Windsor  mainly 
through  the  agitated  gossip  of  his  native  town,  where 
the  great  man  had  been  discussed  and  rediscussed  with 
painstaking  minuteness.  He  knew  that  Winterhaven 
had  once  produced  a  black  sheep,  though  that  distance 
which  empurples  mountains  had  now  turned  the  fleece 
to  a  dazzling  white.  In  the  days  of  his  youth  no  one 
bad  doubted  that  Nicholas  Windsor's  fleece  was  black. 
He  was  as  restless,  tumultuous  a  boy  as  ever  perplexed 
a  mother.  He  shook  the  side  curls  of  the  town  by  his 
lawless  escapades.  When  he  went,  as  all  Winterhaven 
boys  do,  to  Winterhaven  College,  he  was  not  content 
to  accept  the  traditions  that  were  good  enough  for  his 
forebears,  though  one  would  have  thought  he  knew 
too  little  of  his  books  to  question  the  learned  gentle 
men  who  labored  conscientiously  to  take  him  by  the 
scruff  of  the  neck  and  bump  him  into  the  paths  of  re 
ligion  and  scholarship.  He  was  watched  with  breath 
less  apprehension,  and  dreaded  more  on  account  of  his 
unexpectedness  than  from  any  evil  that  he  actually 
did.  A  town  of  eminent  respectability  did  not  under 
stand  him, — and  all  mankind  are  agreed  in  condemn 
ing  what  they  do  not  understand. 


A   VISION   OF   TO-DAY  23 

Young  Nicholas  had  steam  in  him;  and  human 
steam,  like  any  other,  must  find  its  legitimate  outlet 
and  be  harnessed  into  turning  wheels,  or  it  will  tear 
and  rend  its  way  to  freedom  without  deference  to 
broken  boilers  and  outraged  proprieties.  Winterhaven 
gave  young  Nick  Windsor  no  safety-valve,  and  the 
town  breathed  more  freely  when  the  explosion  was 
over,  and  the  offending  element  had  been  spewed  into 
outer  darkness.  At  heart  it  congratulated  his  dead 
father  and  mother  that  they  had  not  lived  to  see  the 
son's  career.  He  was  gone  into  some  sink  of  iniquity, 
beyond  the  ken  of  Winterhaven's  ordered  existence, 
— gone,  to  be  mentioned  only  as  a  curious  and  tragic 
phenomenon  of  the  comet-like  order.  People  said  he 
had  gone  West.  It  was  a  convenient  expression,  and 
sufficiently  vague.  Ten  years  went  by.  Nicholas  Wind 
sor  was  no  longer  very  young,  but  he  remained  un- 
forgotten  in  a  town  that  hoarded  its  traditions. 

To  induce  a  satisfied  curve  on  many  a  firm-set 
mouth  came  the  agreeable  piece  of  gossip  that  he  had 
married — or  had  he  married? — a  half-breed,  and  was 
living  the  life  of  a  lawless  frontiersman.  This  was  a 
fate  as  satisfactory  as  any  to  be  found  in  a  Sunday- 
school  book.  And  then  years  passed,  and  more  years, 
and  it  began  to  be  told  that  Nicholas  Windsor's  steam 
was  setting  wheels  to  buzzing,  faster  and  faster — in- 


24          THE    PRIZE   TO   THE    HARDY 

conceivably  fast.  He  was  cutting  down  forests  and 
harnessing  streams  and  building  towns.  He  was  creat 
ing  the  very  order  which  he  had  once  defied. 

At  last,  one  day  a  comfortable,  middle-aged,  well- 
dressed  man  came  to  Winterhaven,  and  laughed  good- 
humoredly,  as  if  it  were  the  best  of  jokes  to  recall  his 
youthful  iniquities.  People  held  their  breath  that 
scandal  should  be  treated  so  flippantly,  but  gaped  at 
him  because  he  had  become  a  man  of  power.  Winter- 
haven  was  accustomed  to  maximum  incomes  of  two 
thousand  dollars  a  year,  and  knew  that  one  could  live 
thereon  with  dignity  and  nobility. 

And  now  the  town  was  presented  with  the  Windsor 
Library,  and  Windsor  Hall  was  built  at  the  college. 
The  ex-scapegrace  seemed  to  have  a  real  affection  for 
the  college  to  which  he  had  been  a  disgrace.  He  be 
lieved  it  was  a  good  thing. 

A  drinking  fountain  of  marvelous  design  was  set  up 
where  the  roads  crossed  in  front  of  the  post-office. 
The  younger  scions  were  fired  with  wonderful  tales  of 
Nicholas  Windsor's  doings,  from  the  time  when  he 
went  into  the  vague  far-away  with  thirty-eight  cents 
in  his  pocket  up  to  now,  when  he  counted  his  money 
by  millions  and  set  the  seal  of  his  genius  on  a  hundred 
enterprises.  After  he  had  gone,  the  bi-weekly  Winter- 
haven  Chronicle  included  in  every  issue  some  para- 


A   VISION   OF   TO-DAY  25 

i 

graph   about   "our  distinguished   son,    Mr.    Nicholas 

Windsor,"  or  some  item  about  Miss  Vera  Windsor's 
foreign  trips.  When  an  unusually  promising  boy  ap 
peared  in  Winterhaven  he  was  apt  to  find  his  way  to 
St.  Etienne,  to  be  set  to  turning  one  of  the  minor 
wheels  in  Windsor's  great  machine. 

Frank  Lenox  knew  the  whole  story,  but  he  realized 
it  as  he  never  had  before,  now  that  he  leaned  against 
his  tree-trunk  and  looked  at  the  picturesque  huddling 
of  steeples  and  houses  below,  with  the  stately  tower  of 
the  City  Hall  accenting  it  all,  and  even  the  unwieldy 
elevators  blending  harmoniously  with  tree  and  house 
tops  under  that  soft  pinkish  haze  into  which  nature 
somehow  transforms  the  unlovely  element  of  city 
smoke. 

It  was  here  that  the  old  man  had  fought  for  that 
multi-colored  thing  called  Success.  St.  Etienne  was  a 
great  thing  for  a  man  to  watch  springing  from  noth 
ing  and  growing  like  a  young  giant  before  his  very 
eyes.  Windsor  had  watched  it  all,  and  helped  to  make 
it.  He  had  laid  his  hand  on  the  life  of  the  pioneer, 
and  on  the  life  where  pioneering  begins  to  look  ro 
mantic  in  the  haze  of  the  past. 

Lenox  drew  a  deep  breath  and  thought  nervously 
of  the  letter  of  introduction.  There  swept  over  him  a 
horrible  realization  that  he  was  a  poor  relation.  We 


26  THE    PRIZE   TO    THE    HARDY 

all  sympathize  with  the  trials  of  the  rich  who  have  the 
daily  wear  and  tear  of  hangers-on  to  endure,  but  per 
haps  the  other  side  is  even  harder  to  bear.  To  be 
baffled,  humiliated,  helpless,  dependent  on  the  caprice 
of  one  whose  caprice  is  less  likely  to  be  kindly  as  his 
sense  of  absolute  power  grows  greater — this  is  bit 
terness  indeed. 

Lenox  clenched  his  teeth  and  his  hands  and  felt  the 
whole  of  it  for  an  instant ;  then  half-startled  at  him 
self,  he  said  aloud : 

"That  I  will  not  endure.  I'll  go  to  see  him  once,  but 
if  he  so  much  as  flecks  a  scornful  eyelid  at  me  I'll 
never  go  back  again.  I  am  going  to  stand  on  my  own 
feet.  I  guess  a  boy  from  Maine  has  grit  enough  to 
hold  on  to  his  self-respect.  After  all,  I've  got  the  same 
blood  in  my  veins  that  Windsor  has  in  his,  and  he 
didn't  wait  for  some  one  else  to  put  him  on  the  express 
train." 

At  this  my  Lady  Fortune,  who  is  always  listening 
around  corners,  and  seems  to  have  a  real  affection  for 
those  who  defy  her,  laughed  in  her  sleeve  and  pre 
pared  to  give  her  wheel  a  twirl,  but  Lenox  heard  only 
the  rustle  of  the  oak  leaves  above  him. 

Then  he  realized  that  he  was  hungry,  and  that  it  was 
long  past  lunch  time.  He  turned  again  toward  the 
center  of  things.  Before  him,  down  the  wide  sidewalk 


A   VISION    OF   TO-DAY  27 

that  edged  an  immaculate  lawn,  raced  a  Russian  this 
tle,  wind-blown  and  self-confident  as  though  it  had 
a  whole  prairie  to  itself.  Down  together  they  went, 
past  the  gracious  homes,  back  to  the  roar  of  business. 
Half-fascinated,  he  watched  the  clumsy  thing,  wonder 
ing  what  fate  St.  Etienne  would  mete  it.  But  the 
thistle  mysteriously  disappeared  long  before  it  joined 
the  whirl.  And  as  for  Frank  Lenox,  he  lingered  as  he 
went,  dreading  to  present  himself  in  the  guise  of  one 
who  begs  a  favor  from  a  man  he  does  not  know  and 
who  may  be  indifferent  or  even  insolent.  The  bigness 
of  Nicholas  Windsor  and  the  littleness  of  Frank  Lenox 
oppressed  him  in  spite  of  his  recent  self-confidence. 

Where  Sauveur  and  Bottineau  Streets  come  to 
gether,  unoccupied  amid  the  rush  of  business,  Lenox 
halted  idly  for  a  moment.  An  electric  car  on  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  street  came  to  a  stop  and  toward  it, 
on  his  own  side  a  second  car  rushed  at  full  speed.  He 
watched  with  absent  vision  a  girl  step  from  the  farther 
car  and  come  around  its  back  toward  him.  Suddenly 
his  senses  came  back.  She  did  not  see  nor  hear  the  on- 
rushing  destruction  whose  jangle  was  drowned  by  the 
louder  noise  around  it.  In  another  moment  it  would  be 
too  late !  Even  now  she  stepped  into  the  nearer  track. 
She  raised  her  eyes  quietly,  and  on  the  instant  he  lifted 
his  hand  and  made  an  imperative  motion  as  though, 


28          THE    PRIZE   TO   THE    HARDY 

if  he  were  near  her,  he  would  push  her  from  him.  In 
a  flash  she  understood,  drew  back,  and  the  flying  car 
dashed  by,  blotting  her  out  of  sight. 

The  one  swift  act  transformed  his  state  of  mind.  He 
was  no  longer  the  idle,  dilatory  creature  of  the  moment 
before,  but  full  of  energy  and  desire.  "Enter  in  with 
hope.  Here  all  things  are  possible,"  seemed  written 
above  the  portals  of  St.  Etienne. 

As  for  the  girl,  when  the  car  had  whirled  on  its  way, 
and  she  could  again  see  the  opposite  sidewalk,  she 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  street  and  gazed  in  dis 
mayed  astonishment  at  his  retreating  back. 

"Well !"  she  said  to  herself,  "to  think  he  should  not 
wait  to  let  me  get  a  square  look  at  him !  Such  is  the 
rescuing  knight  of  to-day.  The  dragon  has  gone,  and 
St.  George  does  not  even  wait  to  be  thanked.  Another 
hopeful  seed  of  romance  has  fallen  on  barren  ground !" 

Meanwhile  Lenox,  not  meditating  at  all  on  fair  dam 
sels  rescued  from  all-devouring  trolley  cars,  was  facing 
the  problem  of  bread  and  butter,  in  the  nearest  restau 
rant. 

Windsor's  particular  office,  with  scattered  offices 
which  represented  his  various  enterprises  all  about  it, 
was  in  a  huge  caravansary.  Looking  up  from  the  bot 
tom  of  its  central  opening  through  its  innumerable 
stories,  Lenox  felt  like  an  ant,  but  the  elevator  that 


A   VISION    OF   TO-DAY  29 

jerked  him  upward  left  no  time  to  meditate  on  bigness 
or  littleness,  past,  present,  or  future. 

In  the  outer  office  he  delivered  his  letter  to  a  clerk 
and  set  himself  to  endure  a  period  of  nervous  sus 
pense  with  what  grace  he  could.  He  wandered  about, 
looking  at  the  pictures  on  the  wall  and  at  the  maps 
of  the  Northwest,  seamed  with  gory  lines  of  railroad 
and  covered  with  an  eruption  of  dots  and  crosses 
marking  the  spots  which,  for  one  reason  or  another, 
came  within  Windsor's  spider-web  of  activity.  Peo 
ple  passed  and  looked  at  him  with  fishy,  unsympa 
thetic  eyes,  and  he  was  awaiting  trial  for  his  life.  The 
time  seemed  interminable.  The  door  of  the  inner  room 
opened  and  four  men  came  out.  They  were  large 
men,  with  that  look  of  unctuous  self-satisfaction 
which  betrays  some  varieties  of  success.  As  he 
watched  their  departure,  Lenox's  heart  sank  still 
lower,  sank  to  the  zero  point  as  the  period  of  waiting 
prolonged  itself  with  no  relief  except  the  distant  click 
of  a  typewriter  and  the  muffled  ring  of  telephone  bells. 
At  last  a  clerk  approached  him. 

"Mr.  Lenox?" 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  step  into  Mr.  Windsor's  office?" 

The  boy's  heart  came  up  in  his  mouth.  This  inter 
view  comprehended,  or  at  least  he  thought  it  did,  his 


30          THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

whole  future.  His  mind  began  to  fumble  mazedly 
with  the  question  of  what  he  should  do  if  this  failed 
him.  Then  he  found  himself  in  the  presence.  A  hand 
some,  well-dressed  young  man,  broad-chested,  wide- 
shouldered,  small-legged,  with  a  face  to  which  Lenox 
took  an  instant  dislike,  leaned  against  a  desk  talking 
toward  a  big  chair  wherein  was  a  vision  of  expansive 
back.  The,  young  man  honored  him  with  a  long  stare, 
while  a  voice  on  the  other  side  of  the  back  spoke. 

Lenox  waited  mutely. 

"The  fellow's  made  about  as  much  of  a  botch  of  it 
as  he  can,  and  be  allowed  to  live  on  this  green  earth. 
Fire  him,  Kemyss.  I'll  give  you  permission  to  use  all 
the  explosive  language  you  can,  in  my  name.  Pile  it 
on.  It's  time  somebody  started  a  factory  for  the  manu 
facture  of  backbones.  Great  Scott,  that  man  is  nothing 
but  rolled  oats!  Why  doesn't  the  Lord  make  more 
men  and  fewer  dummies?" 

As  though  he  were  used  to  such  outbreaks,  and  un 
moved  by  them,  the  younger  man  turned  with  the  fa 
miliar  air  of  a  privileged  person  and  gathered  some 
papers  from  the  desk. 

"I  thought  you  advertised  to  run  the  universe,  Mr. 
Windsor;  but  perhaps,"  he  added,  going  toward  a 
side  door,  "y°ur  success  would  not  have  been  so  great 
if  the  proportion  of  dummies  had  been  smaller." 


A   VISION   OF   TO-DAY  31 

"Very  likely,  very  likely.  It  seems  an  outrage, 
though,  that  an  idiot  should  have  the  power  to  foil 
a  wise  man's  plans.  Well,  it's  a  great  game  playing 
with  them,  anyway."  And  Kemyss  was  gone. 

Lenox  stood  and  watched  the  large  hand  which  be 
lied  its  phlegmatic  character  by  tapping  nervously  for 
an  awkward  moment;  then  the  chair  wheeled  about; 
he  was  face  to  face  with  the  tin  god,  and  behold !  the 
idol  was  flesh  and  blood — a  big  cheerful-countenanced 
man,  of  the  human  type  that  every  one  calls  by  the 
first  name. 

"Well,  my  lad,  so  you're  Nellie  Windsor's  son?" 
said  Windsor,  holding  out  his  hand  without  rising. 
"Haven't  heard  of  her  for  years.  It's  hard  to  think 
of  her  in  anything  except  a  gingham  apron  and  pigtails 
tied  with  pink  ribbons.  How  is  she  ?" 

"She  may  have  grown  a  bit  older  since  you  and  she 
painted  stars  and  stripes  on  all  Uncle  Joseph's  market 
eggs,"  answered  the  boy.  "But  I  assure  you  I  don't 
think  she  could  be  in  any  way  improved  on." 

Windsor  put  back  his  wide  head  and  laughed. 
"Great  Scott !"  he  said,  "that's  another  important  event 
I  had  forgotten !  Nellie  was  great  stuff  in  those  days 
— game  for  any  deviltry  I  could  invent." 

As  this  did  not  seem  to  Lenox  to  describe  his  gen 
tle  little  mother  with  accuracy,  he  kept  silent. 


32          THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  from  her,"  went  on  the  great 
man,  a  shade  more  cordially.  "And  prospering, — I 
hope  she's  prospering?" 

"She  is  leading  the  life  of  a  quiet  Winterhaven 
widow.  I  don't  know  whether  you  would  call  it  pros 
perity  or  not." 

"And  her  chief  interest  in  life,  I  suppose,  is  the 
young  sprig  she  has  sent  out  here."  Windsor  was  al 
ready  glancing  at  his  desk,  and  picking  up  an  un 
opened  envelope.  "Well,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr. 
Lenox  ?  I  always  help  a  boy  from  Maine  if  it's  in  my 
power.  They're  generally  worth  helping.  Not  always, 
though.  By  gum,  not  always !" 

"It  is  the  other  way,  Mr.  Windsor.  I  came  hoping 
I  might  find  something  I  could  do  for  you." 

"Been  through  Winterhaven  College?"  Windsor 
was  scrutinizing  the  youthful  face  with  the  eye  of  ex 
perience. 

"Yes." 

"That's  all  right.  Forget  it  as  soon  as  possible. 
So  you  want  employment  ?" 

"No,"  said  Frank  with  a  flush.  "I  want  work." 

"So?"  For  the  first  time  Lenox  received  a  glance 
that  was  not  wholly  indifferent.  "You  think  there's 
a  difference,  do  you  ?" 

He  laid  his  papers  deliberately  back  on  the  desk. 


A   VISION   OF   TO-DAY  33 

"Sit  down  a  minute,  and  let  me  talk  to  you,  Frank 
Lenox.  If  you  want  work,  you  did  right  to  come 
West.  There's  always  plenty  of  room  at  the  top  for 
those  who  aren't  afraid  to  begin  at  the  bottom.  And 
that's  where  you'll  have  to  begin." 

"So  long  as  you'll  let  me  work  like  a  man  and  not 
like  a  dummy,  Mr.  Windsor,  I'll  be  contented." 

"So  you.  heard  me  talking  to  Kemyss,  did  you? 
Well,  I  can  tell  you  there  are  gold  mines  that  aren't 
salted,  and  there  are  fellows  who  aren't  looking  for  a 
chance  to  earn  fat  salaries  by  putting  their  feet  up  on 
the  office  desk.  But  they  aren't  either  of  them  abun 
dant.  All  I  can  do  for  you  is  to  give  you  a  chance  to 
show  whether  you're  one  of  them  or  not." 

"That's  all  I  ask,  sir." 

Windsor  gave  him  another  of  those  measure-taking, 
under-eyebrow  stares,  but  all  he  said  was : 

"So  Nellie  is  a  quiet  little  widow,  is  she  ?  And  I  re 
member  the  time  when  she  could  beat  all  the  boys 
shinning  up  a  tree." 

The  nervous  hand  began  its  rat-tat  again,  as  he 
looked  out  of  the  window,  back  forty  years,  for  an  in 
stant.  He  turned  alertly. 

"Find  out  where  my  house  is,  and  come  up  and  have 
dinner  with  us  to-night,  and  let  me  talk  to  you  about 
the  old  place.  I  haven't  any  time  for  you  now.  You 


34          THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

mustn't  expect  too  much.  You're  young  and  you're 
green,  and  your  life  up  to  now  hasn't  been  on  the  same 
lines  as  life  out  here." 

"I  don't  expect  anybody  but  myself  to  make  a 
career  for  myself,"  said  the  lad,  a  little  stiffly. 

"There  are  plenty  of  opportunities  waiting  around 
to  be  taken,  but  most  people  mistake  them  for  hin 
drances.  Every  lump  in  your  path  ought  to  be  some 
thing  to  climb  on.  Oh,  I  know  that  ain't  the  whole  of 
it,  but  just  mix  in  a  little  good  old  Puritan  foreordina- 
tion  with  this  doctrine,  and  you'll  have  a  pretty  good 
philosophy  of  life,  my  boy.  See  you  this  evening." 

Windsor  tore  open  an  envelope  with  a  nod  that  in 
dicated  that  he  was  busy.  At  this  period  of  the  world's 
history  it  is  no  distinction  to  be  busy,  but  this  man  had 
more  pressure  of  urgency  to  the  superficial  minute 
than  most. 

So  Francis  Lenox  came  to  be  an  obnoxious  fifth  at 
Vera  Windsor's  table. 


CHAPTER  III 


FOOD 


With  a  little  ruffling  of  plumes,  and  the  slight  cool 
ness- of  manner  that  comes  from  a  sense  of  personal  in 
jury,  Vera  rose  to  welcome  the  unwelcome  young  man. 
He  had  added  to  his  guilt  by  coming  a  few  moments 
early,  having  been  invited  without  a  specified  hour,  and 
her  father  was  still  up  stairs. 

"Mr.  Lenox,"  she  said  languidly.  Then  she  flushed 
warmly,  and  Frank  felt  the  change  that  came  over 
the  eyes  that  met  his. 

"I— I  have  reason  to  know  you  already,  and  to  be 
grateful  to  you,"  she  said. 

"That  is  very  fortunate  for  me.  But  will  you  tell  me 
when  our  meeting  took  place?  I  do  not  see  how  it 
was  possible  for  me  to  have  met  you  and— and  have 
forgotten  it." 

He  was  conscious  of  a  new  sensation,  as  his  eyes 
met  hers  fully  and  cordially.  Her  clear-cut  face,  the 
skin  dark  yet  delicate,  and  touched  now  to  more  than 

35 


36          THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

its  usual  beauty  by  a  faint  flush,  most  of  all  the  eyes, 
deep  and  glowing,  that  looked  fearlessly  at  him  with 
unconscious  integrity — he  knew  he  should  never  for 
get  them  in  the  future.  How  could  he  have  forgotten 
them  in  the  past  ? 

"Is  it  so  common  an  experience  for  you  to  go  about 
saving  strange  young  women  from  ignominious  death 
that  this  morning's  episode  has  already  slipped  your 
memory?  I  thought  it  must  be,  from  the  nonchalant 
way  in  which  you  made  off.  But  if  it  is  nothing  to 
you,  it  means  a  great  deal  to  me,  I  assure  you.  Think 
of  the  humiliation  of  being  demolished  by  a  trolley- 
car  !  If  I  must  lose  my  life,  I  hope  it  will  be  in  some 
more  heroic  fashion."  She  smiled  at  him,  and  the 
smile  brought  out  a  sudden  dimple,  so  unexpected  in 
her  reserved  face  that  Lenox  lost  himself  in  bewilder 
ment. 

"Was  it  you?"  was  all  he  could  weakly  say. 

"Stupid  thing!"  she  said  internally,  but  with  still 
the  same  smile.  "Stupid  and  commonplace.  Another 
characteristic  of  the  knight-errant  of  to-day.  Not  a 
word  to  say  for  himself.  St.  George  would  have  writ 
ten  an  epic,  all  besprinkled  with  lyrics,  about  it." 

Her  father  came  in,  and  Vera  sank  into  a  chair  and 
listened  to  their  talk  about  things  that  bored  her,— 
Winterhaven,  its  town-meetings,  its  gossip,  and  the 


FOOD  37 

boyhood  pranks  that  her  father  delighted  to  rehearse 
and  that  she  knew  by  heart.  Cyril  Kemyss  arrived 
and  greeted  her  in  a  fashion  that  in  some  subtile  way 
gave  her  to  understand  that  he  read  her  innermost 
thoughts  and  sympathized  with  them;  that  he,  too, 
was  annoyed  by  the  presence  of  the  alien,  but  of  course 
too  courteous  to  show  it — except  to  an  adept.  He  and 
she  sat  apart  and  talked  in  low  tones  that  made  Lenox, 
wholly  occupied  with  Windsor,  feel  himself  shut  off 
in  remote  cold  regions,  though  his  eyes  kept  traveling 
toward  the  soft  fan  that  sometimes  hid  and  sometimes 
revealed  the  glowing  face. 

Last  came  Mrs.  Lyell,  calm  and  shedding  benignity, 
regardless  of  the  fact  that  she  was  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
late. 

"So  sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,  dear,"  she  said  in  a 
voice  that  indicated  that  she  never  let  little  matters 
disturb  her. 

A  small  thing  often  changes  the  life-course.  There 
was  nothing  stirring  or  eventful  in  the  informal  din 
ner  that  followed,  and  yet,  in  retrospect,  it  seemed  to 
others  than  Frank  Lenox  that  new  relations  sprang 
into  being  and  old  ones  were  weakened  during  the 
casual  conversation.  In  the  first  place,  the  feeling  that 
this  particular  guest  was  unwelcome  to  the  rest  of  the 
party  made  Windsor  unusually  cordial  to  the  lad 


38          THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

whom  he  half  liked  before;  and  it  meant  much  to  be 
taken  into  the  old  man's  favor. 

"Lenox,  we'll  give  you  a  dish  to-night  that  I'll 
wager  a  saw-mill  you  never  tasted  before,  and  a 
mighty  good  dish  it  is, — the  only  tangible  memory  that 
is  left  me  of  the  days  when  soused  bear-paws  and 
beaver  tails  and  roast  muskrat  were  our  favorite  table 
delicacies.  I'm  afraid  you'll  never  know  the  delights 
of  dried  buffalo  tongue,  but  at  least  you  can  taste 
pesich-ah-towahapa.  Ha,  ha,  Vera!  You  didn't  know 
I  was  a  linguist,  did  you  ?  Olaf ,  pass  Mr.  Lenox  some 
of  my  wild  rice.  There,  taste  that,  and  if  you  don't 
like  it,  take  the  midnight  train  back  East.  Minnesota 
is  no  place  for  you." 

Lenox  laughed. 

"I  am  convinced  that  wild  rice  is  the  true  and  orig 
inal  ambrosia." 

"Don't  you  think — "  began  Mrs.  Lyell.  She  had  a 
tentative  way  of  putting  forth  her  opinions,  as  if  ap 
pealing  to  the  wisdom  of  the  "questionee" — a  method 
highly  soothing  to  his  self-esteem.  "Don't  you  think 
that  the  conception  of  ambrosia  is  a  most  horrible  one  ? 
It  is  loathsome  to  me  to  think  of  the  immortals  eating 
and  drinking.  I  always  try  to  forget  such  a  blot  on  the 
Greek  ideals." 

"Oh,  come  now;  I'm  sure  you  are  vastly  superior, 


FOOD  3g> 

both  in  mind  and  in  morals,  to  any  Greek  god  I  ever 
heard  of,  and  you  enjoy  a  square  meal,  don't  you?"  said 
Mr.  Windsor  good-naturedly. 

"I  can't  say  I  enjoy  it,"  she  answered  in  her  pleasant 
drawl.  "I  always  like  to  emphasize  that  side  as  little 
as  possible.  I  find  it  a  very  small  stretch  of  the  imagi 
nation  to  conceive  of  a  life  independent  of  such  neces 
sities." 

She  looked  at  Lenox  with  a  distant  gaze  that  made 
him  feel  that  he  was  a  physical  obstruction  to  her 
range  of  vision,  but  that  she  would  soon  reduce  him 
and  all  other  corporeal  bodies  to  films  of  air.  He  was 
a  commonplace  young  man,  and  he  rather  resented  the 
position. 

"Well,  I  can't  say  I  have  any  great  scunner  against 
my  body,"  the  host  went  on  amiably,  "except  that  mine 
grows  a  little  unwieldy  as  I  grow  old;  but  even  if  I 
did,  I  should  feel  obliged  to  put  up  with  the  poor  thing 
as  long  as  it's  on  deck.  And  I  intend  to  make  the 
wretch  as  comfortable  as  possible,  and  even  try  to  get 
a  little  amusement  out  of  it." 

"But  don't  you  feel" — Mrs.  Lyell  spoke  with  the  air 
of  one  giving  psychology  lessons  in  words  of  one  syl 
lable — "that  the  world  in  which  we  live  is  made  by  the 
thoughts  by  which  we  surround  our  true  inner  selves  ? 
And  since  we  create  our  own  world  by  the  kind  of 


40  THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

thoughts  we  think,  doesn't  it  behoove  us  to  think  only 
of  a  beautiful  and  noble  world  ?" 

"And  what  about  the  millions  of  other  people  whose 
bodies  are  so  placed  that  they  can't  create  beauty  or 
nobility?"  asked  Lenox  suddenly. 

She  had  not  considered  the  commonplace  young  man 
hitherto,  her  remarks  being  chiefly  for  the  benefit  of 
her  new  disciple,  Vera  Windsor,  and  for  the  private 
secretary  who  trod  wherever  Vera  trod,  so  she  an 
swered  a  little  coldly. 

"Every  soul  must  work  out  its  own  salvation.  I 
can't  afford  to  defile  my  inner  self  by  knowing  any 
thing  about  such  a  state  of  mind."  She  drew  herself 
up  with  a  slight  degree  of  stiffness. 

Lenox  glanced  around  the  table.  Mr.  Windsor  wore 
an  expression  such  as  one  might  wear  who  watched  an 
interesting  performance  on  a  trapeze.  Kemyss'  cue 
was  to  be  one  of  the  few  young  men  who  could  enter 
into  the  ideals  of  the  higher  life  which  Mrs.  Lyell  rep 
resented,  and  Vera  yearned  after ;  but  he  was  evidently 
undesirous  of  expressing  this  ardent  sympathy  too 
clearly  in  the  presence  of  his  business  chief.  Vera's 
eyes  bore  a  troubled  look,  as  though  she  would  like  to 
find  some  pleasant  way  to  lay  hold  of  the  higher  life 
at  a  single  jump,  and  rather  hoped  this  was  it.  As  he 
looked  his  mood  changed.  Hitherto  he  had  felt  very 


FOOD  41 

shy  and  strange,  but  Mrs.  Lyell's  serenity  irritated 
the  lesser  emotions  out  of  him. 

"That  seems  to  me  the  philosophy  of  incarnate 
selfishness,"  he  said  sharply. 

"Why?"  asked  Mrs.  Lyell,  not  with  irritation, 
scarcely  with  interrogation,  but  as  one  who  would  lead 
to  an  opening  for  demolishing  the  enemy's  logic. 

This  was  not  the  kind  of  subject  on  which  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  thinking,  yet  his  ideas  came  clearly  and 
ready-made;  and  Windsor's  amused  face  said,  "Go  in 
and  win!" 

"The  medieval  ascetic  hid  himself  from  the  world 
and  ignored  the  work  that  needed  him.  This  is  the 
modern  equivalent.  You  would  make  a  hermit  of  your 
mind  instead  of  your  body;  and,  by  constantly  af 
firming  it,  perhaps  you  can  convince  the  world,  as  he 
did,  that  to  be  self-centered  is  spiritual  and  religious." 

"And  the  medieval  ascetic  preserved  the  core  of 
Christianity  in  a  time  when  the  world  was  filled  with 
turmoil.  So  he  did  a  higher  service  to  the  world  than 
if  he  had  merely  mingled  with  its  misery." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you.  It  seems  to  me  that  the 
sturdier  brethren,  who  vowed  to  work  and  serve,  pre 
served  the  core  of  Christianity." 

"By  lofty  spiritual  ideals  we  create  a  noble  world," 
she  said ;  "physical  experience  is  but  a  shadow." 


42  THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

"Why  should  we  try  to  create  a  world?  Hasn't  God 
already  created  a  world  for  us  and  put  us  in  it — a 
world  where  the  physical  laws  are  as  true  as  the  spirit 
ual  laws?  Why  shouldn't  we  live  in  this  great,  stir 
ring,  suffering,  climbing  and  imperfect  world,  and 
not  shut  our  eyes  to  its  facts,  for  fear  the  even  routine 
•of  our  thoughts  should  be  disturbed  ?  Aren't  the  laws 
of  physics  and  human  nature  as  divine  as  the  laws  of 
spirit?  Are  one-half  the  experiences  that  God  gives 
us  merely  lies?" 

"But  what  if  there  is  no  such  thing  as  death  and 
suffering  except  as  they  are  created  by  abnormal 
minds?"  said  Vera. 

He  was  ashamed  of  being  so  strenuous,  and  his  face 
and  voice  grew  gentler  as  he  turned  to  her. 

"I  think  both  our  sense  and  our  senses  tell  us  that 
they  are  facts,  no  matter  how  we  may  shuffle  and 
ignore  them.  It  seems  to  me  that  however  ugly  truth 
may  look  at  first  sight,  in  the  long  run  it  is  more  beau 
tiful  than  the  most  specious  falsehood,  and  it  looks 
to  me  like  falsehood  to  deny  all  the  universe  outside 
myself.  Nowadays  our  ideal  is  not  repose,  but  eternal 
conquest  over  ourselves  and  the  world.  That  old  be 
lief,  that  the  perfect  life  was  the  life  led  by  the  soul 
disjoined  from  the  body,  has  been  outgrown  among 
other  childish  things,  and  it  is  a  return  to  medievalism 


FOOD  43 

to  revive  it.  We  know — or  we  ought  to  know — now, 
that  the  developed  soul  and  the  developed  physical  na 
ture  go  hand  in  hand.  When  we  try  to  help  the  de 
graded  and  the  poor,  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  improve 
their  conditions  of  life,  instead  of  giving  them  tracts, 
because  we  realize  that  dirt  on  the  body  conduces  to 
dirt  on  the  soul.  Even  Heaven  does  not,  any  longer, 
mean  rest.  Do  you  know  the  nonsense  rhyme, — 

"There  once  was  a  spirit  who  died. 
'I  have  finished  my  job  now/  he  cried. 
But  the  Lord  said,  'Not  so, 
For  to  work  you  shall  go, 
On  a  far  harder  task  than  you've  tried.' " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  rather  ashamed  of  his  un 
wonted  outbreak.  He  had  not  been  accustomed  ta 
think  on  these  things,  but  habits  of  life  create,  un 
consciously,  their  own  philosophy. 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  but  Mrs.  Lyell  answered, 
unruffled : 

"Some  time,  perhaps,  you  will  grasp  the  measure  of 
our  thought.  Argument  on  such  subjects  is  impossible. 
Truth  is  felt  by  the  soul.  It  is  not  to  be  proved  by 
logic.  One  can  always  find  plenty  of  arguments  in 
favor  of  what  one  already  believes." 

"I've  no  doubt  you  are  right  there.    Therefore  one 


44          THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

should  never  consider  his  own  little  fragment  of  truth 
the  final  measure  of  things.  Our  ideas  are  created  by 
our  temperaments  more  than  by  our  logic,  and  you 
can't  be  argued  out  of  your  temperament." 

Vera  pushed  back  her  chair  with  an  impatient  sigh. 
She  and  Mrs.  Lyell  left  the  room,  but  as  she  went 
toward  the  door  she  gave  Frank  a  swift  look  that  said, 
"You  are  not  stupid  after  all."  Straightway  he  for 
got  nature  and  spirit,  truth  and  untruth,  in  an  instant 
of  delight  as  he  met  her  eyes.  He  could  affect  only  a 
languid  interest  in  Nicholas  Windsor's  big  laugh. 

"Well,  Lenox,  you've  got  a  little  of  the  good  old 
straight  Puritan  blood  left  in  you !  It  did  me  good  to 
hear  you  uttering  such  heresies  around  here.  We've 
been  having  a  lot  of  spirituality  and  mighty  little  horse 
sense  in  this  community  lately,  I  can  tell  you.  Say, 
Lenox,  did  you  say  that  all  out  of  your  own  head,  or 
did  you  learn  it  out  of  a  book  ?  They  didn't  teach  that 
kind  of  stuff  at  Winterhaven  College  in  my  days." 

Kemyss  looked  at  Lenox  with  ill-concealed  dislike. 
He  was  inwardly  cursing  his  own  difficult  situation, 
which  kept  him  silent  during  the  discussion,  fearful  of 
offending  either  his  ethereally-minded  love  or  his 
materially-minded  chief. 

"I  don't  know  which  looks  the  worse,  a  Philistine, 
or  a  damn  fool,  but  I'm  inclined  to  give  the  fool  the 


FOOD  45 

preference,"  was  the  message  that  his  inner  self  com 
municated  to  his  inner  mind. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Lyell,  in  the  drawing-room,  settled 
herself  comfortably  in  the  easiest  of  chairs  very  near 
the  blazing  fire. 

"It  is  really  too  bad,  Vera,  that  your  father's  busi 
ness  life  should  be  constantly  bringing  you  in  contact 
with  this  type  of  mind.  It  makes  it  very  hard  for  you 
to  live  the  higher  life.  That  young  man  has  almost 
ruffled  me!"  And  she  laughed  pleasantly. 

Vera's  eyes  shot  a  little  flame. 

"My  father  has  helped  to  build  a  great  city  and  put 
comfort  and  prosperity  into  the  lives  of  thousands  of 
people.  Can  I  be  sure,  Eugenia,  that  it  is  better  to  live 
alone  on  the  hilltop  than  to  do  as  he  has  done  ?" 

Mrs.  Lyell  sat  up.  Really,  the  disciple  was  growing 
unruly. 

"You  are  speaking  out  of  a  mood,  Vera,  and  a  mood 
that  to-morrow  you  will  recognize  as  unworthy.  You 
should  learn  not  to  be  influenced  by  minds  inferior  to 
your  own.  Remember  that  it  is  greater  to  be  than  to 
do." 

"The  question  is  whether  one  can  be  without  do 
ing,"  said  the  disciple,  still  rebellious. 

After  the  gentlemen  came  in,  the  most  contrary  of 
moods  took  possession  of  her.  While  Windsor  ab- 


46  THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

sorbed  the  unwilling  Kemyss,  she  talked  the  smallest 
of  small  talk  with  Lenox.  Mrs.  Lyell  listened  with  dis 
may.  It  is  not  easy  to  indulge  in  lightsome  and  mean 
ingless  sallies  while  one's  mentor  sits  by  in  disapprov 
ing  silence,  but  Vera  ignored  Mrs.  Lyell,  and  to 
Lenox  it  was  as  if  she  were  not. 

"Mr.  Lenox,  I  owe  you  at  least  two  good  turns  for 
your  service  to  me  this  morning,"  said  the  girl,  "and 
the  path  of  the  tenderfoot  is  a  thorny  one.  Would  it 
not  smooth  your  future  in  life  if  you  had  some  elemen 
tary  instruction  in  western  ways  and  manners?" 

Mrs.  Lyell  fell  to  wondering  why  such  simple  words 
should  make  a  man's  expression  that  of  a  fatuous  fool. 
It  is  one  of  the  fundamental  differences  between  man 
and  the  lower  animals — a  distinction  stupidly  ignored 
by  students  of  evolution — this  tendency  of  the  youth 
ful  male  to  slip  out  of  possession  of  man's  towering 
intellect  at  the  slightest  provocation  from  the  youthful 
female. 

"Rule  one,"  continued  Vera;  "when  you  meet  an 
other  person,  you  must  not  begin  to  talk  about  the 
weather.  In  deference  to  the  summer  cyclone,  and  the 
winter  blizzard,  we  think  it  bad  form  to  mention 
weather." 

"What,  then,"  he  asked,  with  a  direct  look  of  smil 
ing  interest,  "is  the  staple  of  conversation  here  ?" 


FOOD  47 

"Well,  the  older  inhabitant  always  begins  by  asking 
the  younger,  'Where  did  you  come  from?'  You  see, 
no  one  but  myself  was  born  in  St.  Etienne.  Really,  it 
never  occurred  to  me  before,  that  perhaps  I  am  the 
lodestone  about  which  this  big  city  has  been  drawn 
together  from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe.  I  know 
there  is  a  popular  impression  that  its  water-power  was 
the  creator  of  St.  Etienne,  but  I  prefer  to  think  it  was 
because  I  set  the  good  example  of  coming  first.  How 
ever  this  may  be,  'Where  did  you  come  from?'  is  a 
good  opening  to  a  conversation,  because  you  can  then 
glide  easily  into  a  discussion  of  your  native  place  and 
the  other  man's,  and  so  on  gracefully  to  staple  ques 
tion  number  two,  which  is,  'How  do  you  like  the 
West?'" 

"And  then?"  he  asked. 

"I  think  this  ends  the  standard  conversation,"  she 
replied.  "If  you  have  any  brains  you  may  branch  off 
into  rational  intercourse.  But  with  ordinary  ingenuity 
these  subjects  may  be  prolonged  enough  to  cover 
quite  a  crop  failure  of  ideas.  You'll  hear  it  done 
every  day." 

"But  if  you  please,  Madam  Instructress,  you  have 
failed  to  enlighten  me  on  the  most  important  point  of 
all,  in  these  'First  steps  of  a  Tenderfoot'." 

"And  what  may  that  most  important  point  of  all  be  ?" 


48  THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

"What,  most  illuminating,  am  I  to  say  when  the 
questioner  asks  me  how  I  like  the  West?"  He  looked 
at  her  with  frank  good  nature. 

Vera  laughed  gaily. 

"Nay,"  she  said.  "Instruction  can't  do  everything 
for  you.  There  must  be  some  scope  for  genius.  But 
I  warn  you,  the  community  will  judge  you  inside  and 
out,  your  insight  into  life,  your  knowledge  of  men  and 
things,  by  your  answer  to  that  crucial  question." 

"You  alarm  me.  But  it  occurs  to  me  that  I  may  al 
ways  escape  from  this  horrible  dilemma  by  being  the 
first  to  ask  the  other  fellow  what  he  thinks  of  the 
West." 

"Come,  I  begin  to  have  hopes  of  you.  Are  you  to 
stay  in  St.  Etienne?" 

"I — I  hope  so."  Lenox  glanced  at  Windsor. 

"Oh,  I  see.  I  think  you'll  stay.  My  father  likes 
you,"  she  said  kindly. 

"I  hope  so,"  he  said  heartily.  "My  first  impressions 
have  been  so — so  pleasant,  that  I  am  quite  longing  to 
know  more  of  the  inhabitants  of  my  adopted  native 
city." 

"That  is  the  true  spirit.  You  won't  have  to  be  here 
long  before  the  'native'  will  seem  to  you  more  true 
than  the  'adopted'.  I  believe  I  can  give  you  your  first 
opportunity  to  meet  your  fellow  townspeople,  at  least 


FOOD  49 

on  any  large  scale.  Thanksgiving  Eve  we  always  cele 
brate  by  a  semi-public  ball,  to  which  we  Pgo  en  masse. 
You  will  see  the  noble  army  of  pioneers,  and  the  later 
comers,  who  are  respectable,  but  of  course  not  to  be 
compared  with  the  originals.  You  must  gather  together 
all  your  forces  in  preparation  for  meeting  the  genuine 
western  girl,  Mr.  Lenox." 

"Have  I  not  been  meeting  her  all  the  evening?"  he 
asked. 

But  she  ignored  his  question  and  went  on. 

"It  is  the  opening  function  of  the  winter's  gaieties, 
and  to  be  left  off  its  list  would  be  to  sink  into  insig 
nificance;  all  of  which,  being  interpreted,  means  that 
I  am  going  to  have  a  wonderful  new  gown  for  the 
occasion,  and  I  am  sorry  for  any  poor  mortal  who 
does  not  have  the  opportunity  of  gazing  on  me.  You 
may  thank  me  for  saving  you  from  such  a  fate." 

"I  am  most  grateful,"  said  he  humbly,  "or  at  least 
I  shall  be,  if,  from  the  position  of  a  nobody  who  by 
this  investiture  is  transformed  into  a  somebody,  I  may 
beg  for  the  privilege  of  a  dance  with  the  investing 
power." 

"So  you  think  boldness  is  the  first  requisite  of  the 
higher  life — at  least  of  society?"  She  glanced  with 
kindly  maliciousness  at  Mrs.  Lyell.  "Yes,  I  will  com 
plete  my  benefactions.  You  shall  have  the  first  dance 


50  THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

£ 

— just  five  weeks  from  to-night.  I  shall  tell  any  one 
else  who  asks  for  it  that  I  am  saving  it  for  Mr.  Lenox, 
the  most— 

"The  most  what?"  he  pleaded. 

"The  most  recent  arrival  in  St.  Etienne,  of  course. 
And  the  man  who  saved  me  from  the  demon  street 
car." 

Mrs.  Lyell  got  up  a  little  abruptly,  and  Vera  rose, 
too,  with  an  apologetic  gesture.  Other  girls  talked 
small-talk,  and  why  should  not  she? 

Mr.  Windsor  and  Mr.  Kemyss  joined  the  group 
around  the  fire,  and  conversation  became  general  until 
the  carriage  for  Mrs.  Lyell  was  announced,  and  that 
lady  departed  with  Mr.  Kemyss  as  escort. 

Lenox  made  a  move  to  go  at  the  same  time,  but 
Windsor  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Wait  a  bit,  I  want  to  have  a  moment's  talk  with 
you." 

Vera  went  to  her  refuge  at  the  piano,  and  began 
to  play  softly,  as  if  crooning  to  herself.  Windsor  hand 
ed  Lenox  a  cigar. 

"Have  another,"  he  said;  "the  one  after  dinner 
didn't  seem  to  amount  to  anything,  and  Vera  doesn't 
mind."  He  turned  down  the  lights,  as  if  settling  him 
self  for  a  comfortable  homelike  time,  and  the  two  men, 
masculine  fashion,  sat  with  crossed  knees  before  the 


FOOD  51 

fire.  There  flashed  half-humorously  across  Lenox's 
mind  the  contrast  between  this  interview  with  the 
potentate  and  that  of  the  morning. 

"Who  and  what  is  Mrs.  Lyell?"  he  asked,  as  Wind 
sor  did  not  seem  inclined  to  take  up  the  conversation. 

"She's  an  incarnate  woman's  club,  that's  what  she 
is.  And  if  you  want  my  opinion,  a  woman's  club  is  the 
most  unnecessary  concatenation  of  atoms  that  has  come 
to  my  notice." 

"Is  shea  widow?" 

"She's  worse  than  that,"  Windsor  answered  glum 
ly;  "she's  the  superior  wife  of  an  inferior  husband. 
She's  the  ripe  fruit  of  the  Lord's  experience  during 
the  long  period  that  he's  been  engaged  in  the  manufac 
ture  of  women;  but  her  husband  is  descended  from 
Adam  after  the  fall." 

Lenox  laughed,  and  Windsor  went  on. 

"She's  Mrs.  Appleby  Edward  Lyell,  and  her  hus 
band  is  Ned  Lyell.  Society  gives  her  the  distinction 
of  all  his  Christian  names,  and  leaves  him  such  poor 
fragments  as  any  poor  fellow  might  have.  There  you 
have  it  in  a  nutshell." 

"I  think  you  are  very  unjust  to  Mrs.  Lyell,"  said 
Vera  in  an  even  voice,  from  the  piano.  She  did  not 
stop  her  playing.  "I  think  the  deprecating  tenderness 
with  which  Eugenia  always  speaks  of  Mr.  Lyell  shows 


52  THE    PRIZE   TO   THE    HARDY 

how  she  tries  to  conceal  even  from  herself  the  know 
ledge,  that  she  can  not  help  having,  that  he  is  nothing 
but  a  clod." 

"The  solid  earth  on  which  we  stand  is  made  up  of 
clodSj  my  dear.  He  supplies  her  with  the  leisure  and 
money  that  she  needs  for  this  chiffon  higher  life  of 
hers — not  too  much  money,  be  it  said  to  his  everlasting 
discredit,  though  he  works  like  a  horse  to  get  that 
little." 

"And  very  fortunate  he  is  to  serve  so  good  a  pur 
pose.  She  is  the  inspiration  of  a  good  many  women's 
lives." 

"Well,  if  I  were  picking  out  wives,  I'd  rather  have 
one  that  petted  me  when  I  came  home  than  one  that 
knew  every  date  from  primordial  protoplasm  to  Dar 
win.  There's  a  pointer  for  you,  Lenox.  And  there's 
another  thing  I'll  tell  you.  It  isn't  safe  for  a  woman 
— or  a  man  either,  for  that  matter — to  cut  loose  from 
the  conventionalities  and  traditions  as  she  does." 

Vera  came  over  and  stood  beside  her  father's  chair, 
slender  and  tall  in  the  flickering  fire-play,  and  her  eyes 
seemed  to  Lenox  to  glow  with  light  within,  not  sharp 
but  soft,  as  she  fixed  them  on  her  father. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  asked. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  mean,"  said  the  older  man, 
clasping  the  hand  that  hung  loosely  at  her  side,  and 


FOOD  53 

patting  it  as  he  spoke.  "You  needn't  be  surprised  if 
I  generalize  a  little  myself.  I've  lived  a  good  many 
years  on  this  old  ball,  Vera,  and  I've  seen  a  good  many 
different  kinds  of  men,  from  trappers  to  princes.  I 
shouldn't  have  made  the  enterprises  I've  turned  my 
hands  to  a  success  if  I  hadn't  used  my  brains  to  study 
people  and  principles  a  little,  should  I?  I  can  piece 
things  together  quite  a  bit,  little  girl,  when  most  folks 
think  I'm  thinking  of  nothing  except  how  to  make  an 
other  dollar.  Now,  then,  there  are  two  ways  in  which 
you  may  get  philosophy  of  life.  Don't  smile  at  your 
old  dad,  Vera.  You  haven't  got  a  monopoly  of  the 
family  brains.  I  say  there  are  two  working  philoso 
phies  of  life.  One  you  get  by  sitting  down  all  alone 
in  a  quiet  room  and  thinking  about  the  things  that  are 
true,  and  resolving  to  live  by  them.  The  other  you  get 
by  banging  up  against  people  and  rinding  out  that 
things  are  so  whether  they're  true  or  not.  Mind  you, 
I  don't  say  one  of  these  ways  is  right  and  the  other  is 
wrong.  Very  likely  you've  got  to  combine  them  both. 
Anyway,  if  you  stick  to  the  last  you're  apt  to  forget 
one  set  of  principles,  and  if  you  stick  to  the  first  you're 
apt  to  forget  another.  That's  what  I  want  to  speak  of 
now,  because  that's  where  I  think  your  friend,  Mrs. 
Lyell,  trips  up,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  be  like  her. 
There  is  no  one  human  mind  so  absolutely  reasonable 


54  THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

that  it  can  evolve  truth  all  by  itself,  and  ignore  the  sum 
of  other  people's  thoughts.  This  old  world's  habits 
have  been  built  up  out  of  the  hard  experience  of  an 
awful  lot  of  folks.  When  a  man  tells  me  that  he  can 
prove  that  there  isn't  any  God,  I  say,  'Great  Scott! 
It's  given  heaps  of  trouble  to  thousands  of  generations 
to  work  out  a  moderately  decent  conception  of  a  God 
who  isn't  an  unjust  savage  and  a  disgrace  to  humanity. 
Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  throw  away  the  result  of 
all  that  struggle,  just  because  I  ain't  smart  enough  to 
see  any  flaw  in  your  little  two-by-four  argument  ?'  " 

"But  if  we  always  insisted  on  accepting  things  as 
they  are,  there'd  never  be  any  progress,"  said  Lenox. 

"That's  all  right,  my  boy.  That's  all  right.  But 
progress  has  got  to  be  built  up  on  things  as  they  are. 
You  don't  get  it  by  knocking  everything  down  and 
starting  over  again.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  happens. 
When  people  begin  to  play  fast  and  loose  with  accept 
ed  ideas  of  truth,  you'll  find — mind  you,  I'm  speaking 
of  my  observation  of  real  folks,  and  I  could  give  you 
plenty  of  examples — you'll  find  those  same  people  are 
very  apt  to  play  fast  and  loose  with  ordinary  morals, 
too.  Now  you  take  marriage.  It's  been  a  tough  pull 
for  the  human  race  to  get  it  as  decent  as  it  is,  and  I'll 
admit  it  isn't  ideal.  But  you  let  a  man  or  woman  be 
gin  to  say,  %  being  on  a  loftier  spiritual  plane,  won't 


FOOD  55 

be  trammeled  by  the  conventionalities  that  are  meant 
for  lower  nature,  and  marriage,  as  the  world  recog 
nizes  it,  is  a  poor  kind  of  thing/  Well,  ten  to  one, 
after  your  superior  soul  has  run  away  with  his  affinity 
and  left  his  wife  and  children,  he  falls  into  a  pit  of 
vileness,  and  deals  a  staggering  blow  in  the  face  to 
such  decency  as  the  commonplace  world  has  already 
achieved.  I  tell  you,  conventionalities  aren't  just  stu 
pidities.  They're  crystallized  common-sense/' 

"How  it  would  rejoice  Winterhaven  to  hear  you 
hold  forth  as  the  apostle  of  tradition!"  said  Lenox, 
and  Windsor  put  back  his  head  and  gave  a  great 
laugh. 

"Winterhaven  isn't  such  a  fool  of  an  old  place  as  I 
used  to  think.  I'm  going  back  there  to  die  some  day. 
By  heaven,  I'd  die,  if  I  had  to  live  there !"  he  said. 

"And  all  this,"  said  Vera  slowly,  "means  that  you're 
such  an  old  fogy  that  you  don't  like  Mrs.  Lyell  to  come 
here  to  dinner  without  her  husband,  and  so  you  expect 
to  see  her  elopement  chronicled  in  to-morrow's  News." 

"Nothing  of  the  kind.  That  single  act  doesn't  sig 
nify  ;  but  I  don't  like  her  attitude  in  general.  I  don't 
know,  and  I  don't  care  very  much  what  folly  Mrs. 
Lyell  is  guilty  of,  so  long  as  you  don't  follow  her  lead 
too  far.  Don't  you  let  her  teach  you  that  it's  only  the 
superior  minority  that  know  wisdom,  and  that  the  in- 


56          THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

ferior  majority  are  fools.  I  belong  to  the  majority 
myself,  little  girl,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  desert  me. 
There,  I've  been  gradually  accumulating  this  discourse 
for  some  time,  and  I'm  glad  I've  shot  it  off.  You  never 
heard  me  explode  that  way  before,  did  you,  Vera? 
Do  you  think  you  can  get  me  an  opportunity  to  ad 
dress  your  club  on  the  Ethics  of  every-day  life?" 

He  drew  down  the  hand  he  held  and  kissed  it  and 
then  gave  her  a  sharp  push,  as  if  to  send  her  away. 

"Never  mind  about  Mrs.  Lyell  now.  She's  only  a 
soap-bubble.  I  want  to  speak  to  Frank,  here,  for  a 
moment." 

Frank  looked  up  startled  at  the  sound  of  his  first 
name.  Truth  was,  there  was  a  little  feeling  of  kinship 
behind  the  shrewd  eyes  with  which  the  man  of  ex 
perience  had  been  studying  the  boy  all  the  evening. 
Windsor  measured  him  up,  a  wholesome,  dependable 
young  man  with  latent  possibilities. 

"Lenox,"  he  said,  "I'm  doing  a  little  grain-commis 
sion  business  on  the  side.  It  isn't  generally  known 
that  I  am  in  it,  and  I  don't  intend  that  it  shall  be 
known  in  the  country.  There's  nothing  the  farmer  is 
so  much  afraid  of  as  the  other  man's  getting  a  dollar. 
He  thinks  I've  got  too  many,  anyway;  so  I  don't  let 
him  know  that  I'm  after  a  few  more.  I've  half  a  mind 
to  send  you  out  into  the  country  to  drum  up  trade  a 


FOOD  57 

bit.  You'll  learn  as  much  about  things  out  here  that 
way  as  in  anything  I  can  give  you,  and  in  a  few 
months  I  shall  know  what  you  are  good  for.  Come  to 
my  office  to-morrow  afternoon  at  two  o'clock.  This 
isn't  the  place  to  talk  business." 

And  Frank,  understanding  himself  dismissed,  said 
good-night  cordially  to  Windsor  and  deferentially 
to  Vera,  feeling  that  the  doors  of  his  new  life  had 
suddenly  been  flung  very  wide  open.  He  was  glad  to  be 
alone  for  the  dark  walk — to  ask  what  it  was  that  had 
happened  to  him.  He  had  been  conscious  all  the  evening 
of  a  new  sensation  that  was  half  anguish  and  half  bliss. 
And  now  in  the  dim  night  air  Vera  Windsor's  face 
moved  before  as  he  tramped  along.  A  policeman, 
standing  under  a  gas  light,  stared  at  him  suspiciously, 
wondering  what  that  fatuous  grin  might  portend. 
There  is  a  great  deal  more  falling  in  love  at  first  sight 
than  the  world  is  willing  to  admit  to  itself — the  self- 
deceiving  old  world  that  poses  as  a  creature  of  rea 
son,  while  all  the  time  it  is  as  warm-hearted  and  im 
pulsive  an  old  thing  as  ever  moved.  And  in  the  less 
sophisticated  regions,  where  conventions  play  a  lesser 
part,  the  primal  instincts  have  freer  scope. 

Frank  had  inherited  a  tendency  to  fall  in  love  from 
some  thousands  of  generations  of  ancestors,  and  it  did 
not  even  occur  to  him  to  try  to  struggle  against  hered- 


58  THE    PRIZE   TO    THE    HARDY 

ity.    He  stopped  suddenly,  too  much  self-occupied  to 


move. 


"There  is  one  thing  Windsor  does  not  know,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "Whatever  chance  he  gives  me  I  am 
sure  to  make  the  most  of,  now  that  I've  seen  her.  Yes 
terday  I  might  have  failed,  but  now— I  won't  P 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    MALCONTENTS 

When  they  got  into  the  carriage  together  both  Mrs. 
Lyell  and  Mr.  Kemyss  were  in  a  very  unpleasant  state 
of  mind,  though  it  was  hard  to  define  what  had  pro 
duced  it.  The  young  man  had  a  feeling  that  his  patent 
right  of  intimacy  in  the  Windsor  household  was  com 
ing  dangerously  near  to  infringement.  His  father, 
Jim  Kemyss,  had  been  the  companion  of  Nicholas 
Windsor  in  the  old  pioneering  days  when  friendship 
meant  something.  Their  cabins  stood  near  enough  to 
gether  to  warrant  their  being  termed  "neighbors," 
and,  when  the  patient  little  half-breed  wife  slept  her 
last  sleep,  Mary  Kemyss  soothed  the  wailing  baby, 
Vera,  and  brought  comfort  to  the  despairing  house 
hold.  If  Jim  Kemyss  had  stayed  in  St.  Etienne,  his 
fortunes — as  he  often  said — might  have  been  like  those 
of  Nicholas  Windsor.  "Why,  the  land  I  built  my  cabin 
on  is  now  held  at  three  hundred  dollars  a  foot.  If  I'd 
kept  it  I'd  'a'  been  a  millionaire!"  How  often  one 
hears  that  in  the  West ! 

59 


60  THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

But  the  great  wave  of  progress,  which  enriched  the 
land  like  the  overflowing  Nile,  swept  the  brood  of 
Kemyss  on  its  front  billows  ever  farther  and  farther, 
from  place  to  place,  and  stranded  him  at  last.  Now, 
when  his  old  friend  was  a  man  of  prestige  and  money, 
he  was  still  a  drifter.  Yet  there  is  no  bond  of  brother 
hood  stronger  than  that  which  binds  those  who  have 
endured  together  the  stress  of  the  frontier;  and  so, 
for  the  sake  of  old  times,  Cyril  Kemyss  had  found  a 
warm  welcome  in  Windsor's  hand-clasp,  and  had  fallen 
into  a  place  which  many  another  young  man  envied. 
He,  himself,  considered  his  fortune  rather  a  matter  of 
desert  than  of  luck. 

To  Windsor's  private  secretary  it  was  no  difficult 
task  to  develop  an  intimacy  in  Windsor's  household, 
nor  was  Mr.  Kemyss  a  young  man  to  neglect  his  op 
portunities.  For  feminine  methods  of  reasoning,  Cyril 
Kemyss  cared  not  a  whit,  having  a  strong  liking  for 
women  because  of  other  excellences  than  those  of 
brain  capacity;  but  he  perceived  that  in  their  pleasant 
fancies  they  must  be  humored  by  him  who  would  aft 
erward  master  them ;  and  he  further  saw  that,  if  they 
were  of  the  class  for  whom  their  men  provide  food 
and  clothes  and  warmth,  they  must  beguile  their  leisure 
with  some  such  airy  toys  as  these  philosophies.  There 
were  even  advantages  in  having  them  discuss  Brown- 


THE    MALCONTENTS  61 

ing  and  Kant  rather  than  gossip  and  clothes.  He  could 
talk  easily  on  these  subjects  himself,  and,  in  fact,  en 
joyed  doing  so  in  his  hours  of  leisure,  though,  being  a 
man,  he  was  sooner  bored  by  these  trifles  than  were 
the  women.  It  would  be  better  if  they  were  less  strenu 
ous,  less  in  earnest  about  affairs  of  little  practical  mo 
ment.  He  liked  women.  He  frequently  told  himself 
and  other  young  men  that  they  were  his  one  weakness, 
though  there  was  as  much  self-laudation  as  self-criti 
cism  in  the  confession.  He  enjoyed  the  study  of  the 
eternal  feminine.  The  development  of  its  intricacies 
had  a  fascination  for  him,  and  he  was  fastidious  enough 
to  be  attracted  only  by  women  of  refinement  and  grace 
— though  that  which  he  liked  was  not  the  nobility 
which  creates  grace,  but  the  beauty  that  accompanies  it. 
It  did  not  take  him  long  to  discover  that  Vera  was 
his  fate.  She  meant  ease,  distinction,  a  relief  from  the 
haggling  with  fortune  which  he  loathed.  And  yet  he 
must  often  confess  to  himself  that  she  lacked  the  mag 
netism  of  her  friend.  Vera  was  slender,  somewhat 
angular,  strenuous,  rigid  in  her  judgments,  too  ethical. 
Mrs.  Lyell,  soft  and  curved  in  every  outline,  with  flesh 
that  made  one  long  to  touch  it  for  its  sleek  delicacy, 
and  lips  that  curved  in  response  to  the  multitudinous 
emotions  within  her,  charmed  his  senses.  If  he  could 
but  transform  this  alluring  creature  into  Nicholas 


62  THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

Windsor's  daughter,  it  would  make  the  path  of  duty 
much  easier.  But  he  held  himself  in  leash — a  thing  not 
easy  when  one  has  been  accustomed  to  let  the  impulses 
be  guides-in-chief. 

Cyril  Kemyss,  like  his  father,  was  essentially  a 
drifter,  and  the  trouble  about  drifting  is  that  it  is 
apt  to  send  one  whirling  over  a  cataract  or  bumping 
against  a  stone.  An  inherent  love  of  approbation,  or 
even  an  affection  for  the  elegancies  of  life,  is  not  suffi 
cient  to  guide  the  craft.  It  needs  a  strong  hand,  and 
once  in  a  while  a  vigorous  push  against  the  current. 

The  intimacy  with  Vera  began  as  naturally  as  that 
of  brother  and  sister.  Had  they  not  been  babies  to 
gether,  even  though  they  knew  of  that  far-off  time 
only  by  hearsay?  In  proportion  as  Vera  was  beloved 
by  her  father,  she  might  prove  valuable  to  another 
man ;  and  since,  to  her  strenuous  nature  and  her  lack 
of  humor,  Mrs.  Lyell's  ecstasies  and  ideals  appealed  so 
strongly,  it  occurred  to  him  that  a  lover  who  possessed 
like  ecstasies  and  ideals  might  gain  even  greater  in 
fluence.  Forthwith  he  set  himself  to  cultivate,  with 
eminent  success,  a  lofty  spiritual  nature.  But  it  was  a 
difficult  situation.  Windsor  himself  had  anything  but  an 
idealist's  temperament,  and,  though  he  humored  what 
he  considered  his  daughter's  foibles,  because  he  loved 
her,  he  was  not  likely  to  endure  with  patience  the  same 


THE    MALCONTENTS  63 

foibles  in  others.  So  far  Kemyss  had  played  his  role 
admirably.  The  foundations  of  his  Spanish  castle  were 
substantially  laid,  but  for  some  reason  he  felt  them 
rudely  jarred  by  this  villager  from  'down  in  Maine/ 
— this  straightforward  young  man,  who  spoke  his 
mind,  and  yet  offended  neither  father  nor  daughter. 
Kemyss  was  not  in  the  habit  of  fearing  the  youths  who 
hovered,  ineffective,  about  his  divinity — youths  who 
were  characterized  by  names  and  a  few  features,  but 
were  otherwise  indistinguishable.  But  Francis  Lenox, 
he  instinctively  felt,  was  a  dangerous  type.  There  was 
that  which  showed,  in  the  face  and  unwavering  eyes, 
a  boy  clear-headed,  clean-hearted,  courteous  in  spirit 
and  vital  in  energy.  What  is  the  use  of  inventing  in 
tricate  paths  if  another  man  can  walk  straight  to  the 
same  goal? 

"Rather  a  disappointing  evening,  wasn't  it?"  Mrs. 
Lyell  interrupted  his  unquiet  thoughts.  "It's  trying  to 
think  that  one  unatmospheric  person  can  so  spoil 
things.  Now  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  one  of  the 
quiet,  inspiring  talks  we  sometimes  have  when  Mr. 
Windsor  has  gone  off  to  his  own  sanctum." 

"You  put  it  very  amiably,  Mrs.  Lyell,  as  you  gen 
erally  put  your  criticisms  of  other  people.  I  confess 
I  found  Mr.  Lenox  aggressive  and  intolerable." 

"Yet  Mr.  Windsor  seemed  to  take  quite  a  fancy  to 


64          THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

him,  and  Vera,  too.  It  would  be  a  great  pity  if  she 
should  fall  under  such  an  influence." 

He  looked  at  her  quite  startled. 

"I  trust  you  will  do  all  you  can  to  prevent  such  a 
catastrophe,  Mrs.  Lyell." 

"There  is  only  one  way  to  rise  above  littleness.  That 
is  to  fill  one's  mind  with  the  great  thoughts  of  the  ages, 
the  great  facts  of  science  and  history."  Mrs.  Lyell 
waved  her  little  plump  hand  gracefully.  She  loved  to 
revel  in  greatnesses  without  too  petty  an  attention  to 
detail.  She  was  very  pretty,  and  her  eyes  grew  lumi 
nous.  Her  mouth  quivered  with  tender  curves.  Mr. 
Kemyss  was  susceptible  to  beauty  and  he  caught  the 
soft  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"If  you  could  make  Vera  such  another  as  yourself !" 
he  exclaimed.  "You  are  my  ideal  of  womanhood,  Mrs. 
Lyell.  I  admire  you  more  than  I  can  say, — all  the  more 
because  you  are  yourself  under  such  adverse  circum 
stances." 

In  the  little  pause  during  which  they  waited  for  the 
door  to  open,  Mrs.  Lyell  could  not  down  the  discon 
tented  thoughts  that  rose  in  her.  How  different  life 
might  have  been !  Suppose  marriage  were  a  continual 
inspiration  instead  of  a  clog.  She  looked  at  Kemyss, 
not  with  love,  but  with  a  covetous  desire  for  something 
in  him  that  had  not  been  given  her.  Her  husband,  who 


THE    MALCONTENTS  65 

opened  the  door  for  her,  seemed  even  less  attractive 
than  usual,  in  a  pair  of  down-at-the-heel  slippers.  She 
followed  him  into  the  little  parlor,  lit  by  a  single  gas- 
jet.  There  had  been  a  fire  burning  in  the  grate,  but 
now  there  were  only  gray  and  hopeless  ashes. 

Her  radiant  philosophy,  which  bubbled  easily  into 
what  her  critics  called  "hemorrhages  of  words,"  had  a 
fashion  of  deserting  her  sometimes  in  her  need;  not 
that  she  had  anything  of  the  hypocrite  in  her,  but  that, 
in  spite  of  her  ardent  beliefs,  her  own  emotional  na 
ture,  susceptible  to  every  wind  of  circumstance,  proved 
stronger  than  her  intellect  and  will. 

The  bleakness  of  this  room  and  man  depressed  her 
after  the  smooth  comfort  of  Vera's  home. 

"I  sent  Tilly  to  bed,  and  told  her  I  would  wait  up 
for  you,"  said  Lyell  apologetically.  He  was  chroni 
cally  apologetic  in  the  presence  of  his  wife. 

''Couldn't  you  have  made  things  a  little  more  cheer 
ful  for  yourself,  Ned?  This  doesn't  seem  much  of  a 
place  for  spending  an  evening." 

"I  should  have  had  a  fire  to  greet  you  with,  cer 
tainly  ;  but  I  came  in  only  a  moment  ago.  Took  dinner 
down  town,"  he  said  quietly. 

Mrs.  Lyell  stared  at  him  a  moment  in  contrition. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Ned.  I  believe  I  told  Tilly  I  was 
going  to  be  out,  and  she  probably  took  it  for  granted 


66  THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

that  you  would  not  be  here.  It  wasn't  like  me  to  forget 
to  order  dinner  for  you,  was  it?  I  am  very  much 
ashamed  of  myself.  I  mean  to  do  my  duty  better  than 
that.  It's  rough  on  you.  I  wish,  for  your  sake,  that  I 
could  be  a  different  type  of  woman." 

If  she  had  completed  her  thought  she  would  have 
added:  "But  it  is  hard  to  remember  the  things  in 
which  one  is  not  in  the  least  interested." 

"And  I  wish  you  would  not  always  insist  on  con 
sidering  me  a  burden,  Jean.  About  dinner,  it  did  not 
make  the  least  difference.  I  should  not  have  cared  to 
sit  down  alone.  As  it  was  I  had  a  very  pleasant  time 
at  the  club  with  the  boys." 

But  his  voice  did  not  sound  jubilant. 

To  his  wife  his  words  raised  a  vision  of  eating  and 
drinking  and  loud  laughter  over  poor  jokes.  She 
turned  away  abruptly. 

"Did  you  have  a  pleasant  time?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  like  you,  I  had  a  sufficiency  of  food  and  drink, 
but  I  can't  say  that  it  made  what  I  call  a  pleasant 
evening.  Mr.  Windsor  was  much  in  evidence,  and  I  do 
not  enjoy  him.  He  had  another  of  his  own  type  there 
to-night — younger  and  more  effervescently  offensive. 
Isn't  it  queer  that  sometimes  everything  in  the  world 
looks  worth  while,  and  at  other  times  nothing  is  worth 
while  ?  It's  all  tiresome,  and  one  longs  to  have  it  over. 


THE    MALCONTENTS  67 

How  astonished  some  of  my  friends  would  be  to  hear 
me  talk  in  such  a  way !  Well,  at  least  I  am  not  a  cow 
ard.  I  can  help  cheer  other  people,  and  keep  my  mo 
ments  of  dejection  to  myself." 

"And  to  me,"  said  her  husband,  a  little  bitterly. 

"Ned,"  she  rose,  "you  can  not  accuse  me  of  often 
thrusting  my  moods  upon  you.  I  know  that  you  do  not 
sympathize  with  either  side  of  me." 

"That  is  the  worst  of  it.  I  am  entirely  aware  that 
both  your  depression  and  your  burst  of  confidence  are 
based  on  indigestion.  I  shall  not  presume  on  them." 

"I  think  I  will  go  up  to  bed  at  once,"  she  said. 

Her  husband  sat  and  stared  moodily  at  the  discour 
aging  ashes  until  long  after  silence  had  fallen  upon  the 
second  floor.  Then  he  went  up  stairs.  His  wife  stirred 
uneasily. 

"I  forgot  to  tell  you,  Jean,  I'm  going  to  take  the 
midnight  train  north.  Probably  be  gone  a  month  or  so. 
Will  it  disturb  you  if  I  light  the  gas  while  I  throw  a 
few  things  into  my  bag  ?" 

"Can  I  help  you?"  she  asked  languidly. 

"No,  thank  you,  dear."  He  worked  in  silence,  glanc 
ing  now  and  then  wistfully  at  her  closed  eyes.  To 
some  people  he  found  it  easy  to  say  the  things  that 
were  in  him,  and  many  a  time  he  evolved  a  long  dis 
course  that  should  somehow  bridge  the  gulf  that  con- 


68  THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

tinually  widened  between  himself  and  his  wife,  but  her 
complete  indifference  stifled  his  power  of  utterance.  He 
could  have  said  it  now,  if  she  would  but  open  her  eyes, 
he  thought.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  and  moved  to  her 
bedside. 

"Good-by,  Jean,  I  must  be  off."  , 

"Good-by,  Ned.   Take  care  of  yourself." 
He  opened  his  lips,  for  her  voice  was  gentle  and 
cordial,  but  she  interrupted. 

"And,  oh,  will  you  please  take  a  look  at  the  furnace 
before  you  go?" 

"Yes,  dear,  I'll  attend  to  it.  Good-by." 
"Good-by."  He  stooped  and  kissed  her  unresponsive 
cheek. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   TEMPTER 

As  Mr.  Kemyss  came  down  the  steps  of  the  Lyell 
house,  he  discovered  a  man  of  substantial  proportions 
awaiting  him. 

"Hello,  K.,"  said  an  aggressively  cheerful  voice. 

Kemyss  half  hesitated  a  moment,  then  nodded  a  curt 
good  night  to  the  still  waiting  coachman. 

"I'll  walk,  thanks,"  he  said,  and  the  new-comer  and 
he  strode  off  into  the  night  together. 

"Old  Windsor's  carnage?"  asked  his  friend.  Kemyss 
nodded. 

"Say,  you're  pretty  thick  with  the  old  man,  ain't 
you  ?  Who  was  the  pretty  girl  you  were  seeing  home 
in  his  rig?" 

There  was  no  reply,  and  Mr.  Timothy  Norton  eyed 
his  companion  askance  and  changed  his  tactics. 

"Say,  I've  got  some  of  the  finest  ever  in  the  way  of 
Canadian  rye.   Step  into  my  rooms  and  sample  it  with 
me,  won't  you  ?"  he  said  with  unabated  cordiality. 
It  was  evident  that  this  suggestion  met  with  a  more 

69 


70  THE    PRIZE   TO    THE    HARDY 

cordial  reception,  for  Kemyss  growled  an  assent  and 
followed  Norton's  latch-key  into  a  dark  hall  and  thence 
into  a  stuffy  but  showy  room,  which  might  properly  be 
called  a  "den"  as  a  tribute  both  to  its  odor  and  to  the 
evidently  animal  propensities  of  its  owner. 

As  M£,  Norton  lit  the  gas,  laid  aside  his  coat  and 
busied  himself  in  getting  out  a  bottle  and  a  couple 
of  glasses,  Kemyss  still  watched  him  silently.  He  was 
a  person  with  pretentions  to  be  called  a  gentleman,  but 
the  trouble  was  that  his  pretentions  remained  preten 
tions.  They  influenced  him  only  so  far  as  to  affect  his 
outer  garments,  and  did  not  penetrate  even  to  the 
sanctum  of  his  finger-nails.  A  wolfish  head  he  had, 
hung  a  little  too  far  forward  on  his  shoulders,  and  his 
mustache,  which  young  ladies  of  his  acquaintance  de 
scribed  as  "handsome,"  did  not  wholly  hide  a  cruel 
mouth. 

"I  suppose  all  this  friendliness  means  that  you  want 
your  money,  Tim,"  Kemyss  broke  in  abruptly.  "I  wish 
to  heaven  you  could  have  it,  and  I  be  done  with  you. 
But  I  haven't  got  it  and  that's  the  truth.  Curse  you 
and  your  cards !" 

"Oh,  well,  come !  You  needn't  blame  me.  You  like 
the  cards  as  well  as  I  do,  old  fellow." 

"I  have  to  thank  you  for  that  as  well  as  for  my 
losses,"  Kemyss  answered  bitterly. 


THE   TEMPTER  71 

"Well,  never  mind  all  that,"  Norton  replied  in  a  sin 
gularly  amiable  voice  to  be  coming  from  such  a  mouth. 
"I'm  in  no  hurry,  and  you  needn't  think  that's  what  I 
wanted  to  talk  about.  I've  known  what  it  was  to  be 
pretty  hard  up,  myself,  and  I'm  the  last  man  on  earth 
to  press  a  friend  on  a  debt  of  honor.  Pay  me  when 
you  get  ready.  Till  then  say  no  more  about  it." 

Mr.  Kemyss'  strained  manner  relaxed,  either  under 
the  influence  of  his  kindly  creditor  or  that  of  the  ex 
cellent  whisky.  Already  this  evening,  Kemyss  had 
borne  the  air  of  an  ascetic  in  the  home  of  Miss  Wind 
sor,  he  had  been  a  young  man  of  emotional  tempera 
ment  in  the  carriage  with  Mrs.  Lyell,  and  now  he 
lapsed  into  the  hail-fellow-well-met  of  Mr.  Timothy 
Norton;  and,  although  he  would  have  felt  very  loath 
to  let  his  own  particular  little  world  see  him  in  his 
present  surroundings,  for  the  first  time  in  several  hours 
he  felt  comparatively  at  ease  and  at  home.  An  inferior 
friend  is  after  all  a  rest.  One  does  not  have  to  pose. 
The  ability  to  become  all  things  to  all  men,  admirable 
as  it  is  in  an  apostle,  in  the  man  who  does  not  endow 
it  with  the  backbone  of  sterling  principles  is  apt  to  be 
come  a  source  of  stumbling. 

"No,  I  ain't  going  to  press  you  on  a  debt  of  honor. 
I'm  gentleman  enough  to  know  how  to  treat  another 
gentleman,  I  hope,"  repeated  his  companion. 


72  THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

"I  appreciate  it,  I  assure  you,"  Kemyss  answered, 
and  an  amicable  silence  fell  between  them. 

"Been  dining  at  Windsor's?"  asked  his  companion 
at  length. 
"Yes." 

"Well,  I  don't  doubt  you  deserve  your  position,  but 
there's  a  good  deal  of  luck  in  it,  too.  No  son  of  his 
own.  Son  of  an  old  friend.  Almost  like  his  own.  The 
old  man's  getting  on.  Some  one  will  have  to  step  into 
his  shoes  one  of  these  days." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Kemyss  laughed  the  laugh  of 
the  flattered.  "Windsor  has  a  good  many  pairs  of 
shoes,  and  no  one  man  is  going  to  step  into  all  of  them. 
And  I'll  tell  you  another  thing,  his  shoes  aren't  any 
where  worn  out,  either.  He's  good  for  a  century.  I 
never  saw  a  man  take  business  the  way  he  does.  It 
does  not  play  him  out.  He  acts  as  if  it  was  a  big  game 
and  as  if  he  couldn't  lose.  If  he  makes  a  false  move, 
why,  it's  only  a  bishop  gone  anyway,  and  he's  nowhere 
near  a  checkmate.  It  does  not  wear  on  him  the  way 
it  does  on  most  men." 

"Well,  when  it  comes  to  games,  two  can  play  at  'em, 
you  know.  I  understand  you  stand  a  pretty  good 
chance  at  capturing  his  queen  yourself." 

"What  makes  you  think  so  ?"  Kemyss  asked  quickly. 

"Oh,  it's  kind  of  understood  among  all  the  boys." 


THE   TEMPTER  73 

"You  don't  know  her,  do  you?"  Kemyss'  question 
was  humorous,  and  accompanied  by  a  sudden  vision 
of  this  man  in  conference  with  Miss  Windsor. 

"Naw,  how  should  I?  But  of  course  I've  seen  her. 
She's  a  high-stepper  and  a  beaut,  but  I  guess  you'll 
have  to  walk  a  chalk  line  when  she's  Mrs.  K.,  at  least 
as  long  as  old  Nick  pervades  this  ball.  Of  course,  she 
ain't  my  style." 

"Mine  either !  She  thinks  the  only  purpose  in  life  is 
to  be  great  and  good.  I  don't  know  whether  the  game 
is  worth  the  candle,"  Kemyss  blurted  out,  and  instantly 
wished  that  he  had  held  his  tongue. 

"Don't  be  a  fool !  Of  course  it  is,"  replied  Norton. 

"And  I  suppose  this  is  why  you  are  willing  to  wait 
for  your  money  ?"  asked  Mr.  Kemyss  pointedly. 

"Cert.  I  ain't  going  to  cut  in  with  any  little  fuss  that 
might  queer  your  chances.  Go  in  and  win  and  let  me 
have  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  the  table.  That  is  all 
T.  Norton  asks." 

"Well,  you  needn't  bank  on  it  too  much." 

Norton  got  up  and  moved  restlessly  about  the  room. 
Then  he  came  back  to  his  seat,  shut  one  eye,  and  sur 
veyed  his  upraised  glass  with  the  other. 

"Kemyss,"  he  said,  "you  have  a  hundred  chances  to 
make  money,  marriage  or  no  marriage.  Look  at  the 
things  that  Windsor  is  into,  and  you  at  his  elbow  all 


74  THE    PRIZE   TO    THE    HARDY 

the  time.  You  must  get  a  lot  of  tips,  say  on  the  stock 
market,  that  other  fellows  don't  have.  If  I  were  in 
your  place  you  can  just  bet  I'd  have  money  in  my 
pocket." 

''Would  you  ?  I  can  tell  you  the  old  man  is  morbidly 
sensitive  on  the  subject  of  speculation — in  his  em 
ployes,  at  least.  He  calls  his  own  operations  'business 
enterprises.'  That  is  a  different  thing.  But,  I  tell  you, 
let  him  catch  any  one,  especially  a  prospective  son-in- 
law,  speculating,  and  the  fur  would  fly.  I  don't  dare 
risk  it.  Besides,  he  thinks  my  salary  is  enough  for  all 
my  needs.  And  so  it  would  be,  if  you  hadn't  got  me 
in  this  tight  place."  Kemyss  reverted  to  his  original 
injury. 

"It  ain't  my  fault  if  the  luck  run  against  you.  And 
it's  bound  to  turn  some  day.  But  about  this  other  busi 
ness.  I  tell  you  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I  wouldn't  be 
such  a  blank  coward.  Why,  you  could  find  a  hundred 
ways  to  operate  without  his  knowing  anything  about 
it.  If  you  are  scared  to  do  it  yourself,  you  can  let  some, 
one  else  do  it  for  you,  can't  you  ?" 

Norton  extended  a  long  deliberate  forefinger  toward 
the  weak  young  fellow  in  front  of  him. 

"Look  here,  Kemyss,  just  say  you  did  happen  to 
drop  on  to  something,  and  suppose  you  tipped  me  the 
wink.  If  you  put  me  in  the  way  of  making  a  tidy  sum, 


THE   TEMPTER  75 

I  would  be  willing  to  let  it  wipe  out  your  debt  to  me,, 
and  as  you  know,  that  has  reached  a  good  round  figure. 
Why  shouldn't  you  and  me  go  into  a  kind  of  part 
nership,  you  supplying  the  information,  and  me  doing 
the  business?  Profits  equaL"  Kemyss  sat  long  with 
boots  extended  before  him  gazing  at  them  as  though 
they  interested  him  deeply,  while  Tim  watched  him  in 
silence. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  I've  sometimes 
thought  of  some  such  arrangement  myself.  Mind,  I 
don't  say  I'll  agree  to  anything,  but  if  you've  got  any 
safe  plans  I'm  ready  to  listen  to  them,"  he  said  ab 
ruptly. 

Tim  hunched  his  chair  confidentially  nearer  and  the 
two  talked  far  into  the  night. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN    EPISODE 

When  two  o'clock  and  Lenox  arrived  together, 
Windsor,  absorbed  in  the  daily  mill,  had  time  only  for 
that  big  human  smile  behind  which  he  hid  his  inflex 
ibility. 

"Afternoon!"  he  said.  "I'm  going  to  send  you  out 
into  the  country  to  solicit  grain."  It  was  not  his  cus 
tom  to  ask  men  whether  they  wanted  to  do  the  things 
he  intended  they  should.  "Don't  know  anything  about 
wheat,  I  suppose  ?  Well,  you'll  know  a  little  before  you 
get  through  with  my  kindergarten.  It's  a  big  subject. 
And  the  commission  business  is  a  small  part  of  it.  In 
cidentally  you'll  learn  a  little  about  Minnesota  and  the 
Swede  farmer,  and  you'll  just  jot  down  a  few  points 
in  which  he  isn't  a  bit  like  the  Puritan.  It  wouldn't 
astonish  me  if  you  even  found  out  a  thing  or  two  about 
yourself  of  which  you're  not  yet  aware."  He  looked  at 
the  young  man  with  quizzical  kindliness.  "I  can't  take 
my  time  to  talk  to  you  about  details,  but  Kemyss  is  in 


AN   EPISODE  77 

the  next  room  there.  I  told  him  to  help  Holton  make 
out  a  kind  of  rough  itinerary  for  you.  He  has  a  little 
interest  in  this  concern  himself.  Come  and  speak  to 
me  before  you  go.  Good  day." 

Frank  went  through  the  door  to  meet  Mr.  Holton, 
the  head  of  the  firm  that  Old  Nick  ran  under  another 
name  than  his  own — the  name  of  a  benevolent  saint  of 
long  ago,  who  knew  little  of  the  wheat-commission 
business,  but  whose  cognomen  came  easily  to  hand  in 
a  country  where  Jesuit  fathers  preceded  grain,  and 
whose  well-known  virtues  now  cast  a  pious  luster  over 
the  trade  of  heretic  business  enterprise,  as  in  huge 
white  letters,  decorating  the  red  country  elevators, 
their  patronage  was  proclaimed. 

A  large  part  of  the  world  eats  its  daily  bread  with  a 
certain  modicum  of  gratitude,  and  does  not  ponder 
deeply  on  the  subject;  but  the  interview  of  that  morn 
ing  gave  Frank  a  sense  that  the  great  structures  of 
civilization  and  of  the  arts  and  sciences  were  founded 
on  grain.  He  perceived  that  your  true  Minnesotian 
surveys  the  world  from  the  lofty  ridge  of  a  wheat  ele 
vator.  Mr.  Holton  had  an  aggravating  way  of  assum 
ing  that  any  intelligent  creature  understood  the  pre 
liminary  facts  that  sounded  to  Frank  like  Eleusinian 
mysteries,  and  awed  him  into  diffidence  in  discovering 
the  depths  of  his  ignorance.  Not  that  he  would  have 


78  THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

minded  Holton  so  much,  but  greenhorn  questions  died 
at  the  lips  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Kemyss.  All  he  could 
do  was  to  store  his  memory  with  undigested  facts  on 
which  to  ruminate  at  leisure.  He  longed  to  develop 
brain  tentacles  that  he  might  keep  a  tight  grip  on  all 
the  instructions  that  were  poured  over  and  into  him. 

"Kemyss  here  has  made  out,  at  Mr.  Windsor's  sug 
gestion,  an  outline  of  the  route  he  proposes  for  you* 
It  lies  through  a  portion  of  this  state  and  the  Dakotas, 
where  we  have,  so  far,  done  hardly  any  business,  so 
you  will  have  a  chance  to  make  a  clean  record.  All 
that  comes  in  to  us  from  that  region  will  be  credited  to 
you,  and  the  line  elevators  are  not  so  thick  up  there 
either,  but  that  there  is  quite  a  field  for  an  independent 
commission  business.  Think  over  what  I  said  to  you, 
Mr.  Lenox,  and  come  back  to  the  office  to-morrow  if 
you  want  any  further  explanations  or  instructions.'' 
The  session  came  to  an  end,  and  Frank  found  him 
self  with  a  scrap  of  paper  covered  with  names  of  towns, 
Greek,  Indian,  Scandinavian,  and  even  occasionally 
English. 

"I  think  that  is  all  at  present,  Mr.  Lenox.  It  might 
do  you  good  to  drop  over  on  'Change  for  a  moment. 
Perhaps  it  will  stir  up  your  interest  and  make  you 
feel  that  you're  part  of  a  big  machine.  I  think  you 
might  start  off. to  the  country  by  day  after  to-morrow 


AN   EPISODE  79 

morning.  After  all,  the  only  qualification  for  success 
must  be  your  own  experience,  your  own  horse  sense, 
and  your  own  tact.  Let  me  see,  Kemyss,  about  a 
month's  trip  this  is  you've  planned,  isn't  it  ? — six  weeks, 
yes." 

Frank  thanked  him  and  started  for  the  door.  "Six 
weeks,  yes."  He  came  to  a  halt  and  a  sudden  flush 
spread  over  his  face.  He  turned  on  his  heel  and  met 
Kemyss'  eyes  and  cynical  smile.  She  had  invited  him 
for  five  weeks.  He  could  not  well  say,  "But,  please, 
kind  sir,  I  want  to  come  back  in  five  weeks'  time  to 
dance  with  Miss  Vera  Windsor.  What,  sir,  is  the 
wheat  business  compared  with  a  waltz?"  Yet  in  his 
present  state  of  mind  the  ball  loomed  almost  as  large 
as  the  business  chance  that  was  to  be  his  making  or  his 
undoing.  Such  is  the  erratic  mind  of  youth. 

Running  to  catch  one  of  the  numerous  elevators 
which  eternally  slipped  up  and  down  like  the  rods  of 
an  engine,  Lenox  found  himself  pushing  a  more  lei 
surely  personage  into  the  already  crowded  cage.  The 
hypnotic  influence  of  rushing  machines  sets  human 
legs  to  rushing,  too.  Frank  had  to  catch  that  elevator 
though  he  was  not  in  a  hurry,  and  another  was  on  the 
point  of  arrival. 

In  the  somber  profile  that  turned  slowly,  as  if  in 
remonstrance  to  his  rapid  movements,  Frank  recog- 


8o  THE    PRIZE   TO   THE    HARDY 

nized  a  half-familiar  face.  He  and  this  other  young 
man  had  been  good  strangers  in  Maine,  but  here,  fif 
teen  hundred  miles  from  the  fresh  sniff  of  salt  water, 
mere  recognition  meant  warmth  and  friendship. 

"Aren't  you  Henry  Repburn?"  Lenox  asked.  "It 
does  my  heart  good  to  see  a  Winterhaven  face." 

"Well,  I  swan,  if  it  ain't  Frank  Lenox !  Used  to  go 
to  school  with  you !  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  When  d'  you 
come  out  ?" 

"Arrived  yesterday.   And  you  ?" 

"Oh,  I've  been  in  this  hole  two  or  three  weeks.  I 
wish  I  was  back.  I  haven't  heard  a  word  of  home 
news  for  an  age.  I  can't  hardly  believe  there  is  such  a 
place." 

"I'm  fresh,  and  primed.  I  can  tell  you  all  the  gossip," 
said  Lenox. 

The  elevator  came  to  a  stop  that  set  his  heart  beat 
ing  against  the  base  of  his  brain,  and  left  his  diaphragm 
without  company.  He  was  a  country  lad.  As  soon  as 
he  could  readjust  his  internal  organs  he  went  on. 

"Come  over  to  the  St.  Etienne  and  have  dinner  with 
me,  and  let  me  tell  you  about  the  good  old  town." 

"I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  said  the  other.  He  walked 
apathetically  by  Lenox's  side,  listening  to  the  young 
man's  hopeful  chatter  about  his  own  affairs,  his  com 
ing  westward,  his  impressions  of  Mr.  Windsor,  his 


AN   EPISODE  81 

confidence  in  his  own  future.  But  at  last  his  compan 
ion's  listlessness  began  to  tell  on  Frank's  effervescence. 
The  human  sympathy,  generally  uppermost  in  his 
make-up,  thrust  his  personal  doings  into  the  back 
ground,  and  Lenox  tried  to  get  something  like  a  re 
sponsive  confidence.  It  struck  him  that  he  was  doing 
all  the  talking  and  all  the  rejoicing,  and  that  his  com 
panion  grew  every  moment  more  despondent. 

"Of  course  we  never  knew  much  of  each  other  at 
home,"  he  said,  "but  I  am  under  the  impression  that 
some  one  told  me  you  intended  to  marry  and  settle 
down.  Isn't  it  rather  a  new  departure,  you're  coming 
to  St.  Etienne?" 

"Yes;  it's  all  of  a  piece  with  my  confounded  bad 
luck.  It  got  so  I  couldn't  stand  it  there,  and  now,  upon 
my  word,  it  looks  as  if  I  couldn't  stand  it  here." 

"Come  up  to  my  room  and  have  a  cigar  and  tell  me 
about  it,"  said  Lenox,  as  they  rose  from  the  table. 

Whether  it  was  the  agreeable  fume  of  tobacco  or 
Frank's  cheerful  geniality  that  penetrated  Repburn's 
gloom,  he  suddenly  dissolved  into  almost  tearful  con 
fidence,  to  which  the  other  listened  in  silence. 

"I  think  there  never  was  a  fellow  who  had  a  worse 
streak  of  luck  than  I've  had, — and  I  can't  see  that  I'm 
in  any  way  to  blame  either.  Things  have  just  hap 
pened.  I've  been  misunderstood  and  abused  and 


82  THE    PRIZE    TO   THE    HARDY 

hounded  around  until  I'm  clean  discouraged.  There 
comes  a  time  when  a  fellow  ain't  called  on  to  be  cheer 
ful  any  more. 

"It  began  back  at  home,  and  it's  followed  me  out 
here,  just  as  if  Providence  had  a  spite  against  me.  It 
seems  as  if  it  wasn't  only  big  things,  but  in  every  little 
thing  I've  done,  some  piece  of  bad  luck  has  happened 
to  me.  I'm  at  my  wits'  end,  I  can  tell  you ;  and  to  hear 
you  talkin'  about  how  cordial  old  Windsor  was  to  you, 
and  his  invitin'  you  up  to  dinner,  and  givin'  you  a  good 
job  right  off,  well,  I  don't  want  anything  bad  to  hap 
pen  to  you,  but  it  just  sets  me  wild.  You  understand  I 
ain't  envious  of  any  one  else.  Now,  he  doesn't  know 
you  any  more  than  he  does  me,  and  he  hasn't  any  call 
to  behave  decent  to  you  and  give  me  a  cold  turn-down, 
has  he?  Ain't  I  from  Winterhaven  just  as  much  as 
you?  But  some  folks  is  born  lucky,  and  some  is  born 
unlucky,  and  it's  better  not  to  be  born  at  all  than  to  be 
born  unlucky." 

"But,  with  all  this,  you  haven't  told  me  what's  the 
matter  yet.  Perhaps  it  will  ease  your  mind  a  bit  if  you 
let  it  off.  Swear  a  little,  if  you  feel  like  it.  Maybe  it'll 
do  you  good." 

"No,  sir,  all  the  cuss  words  in  Webster's  Unabridged 
Dictionary  wouldn't  do  me  any  good,  and  besides  I'm 
not  a  profane  swearer.  See  here,  I'll  go  back  to  the  be- 


AN    EPISODE  83 

ginning  and  tell  you  how  it  happened.  Did  you  ever 
know  old  Jim  Mitf  ord  ?  He  had  a  big  warehouse  down 
on  Waterford's  dock  in  Winterhaven,  and  my  Uncle 
Henry — Uncle  Henry  brought  me  up,  both  my  parents 
being  dead,  which  was  another  piece  of  my  bad  luck — 
but  Uncle  Henry  was  pretty  well  off,  and  took  care  of 
me,  though  he  'most  nagged  the  life  out  of  me  from 
day  to  day.  However,  I'd  got  used  to  his  irritable  ways 
and  I  never  paid  much  attention  to  them.  If  there's 
one  thing  I  am  it's  good-natured,  though  a  fellow 
hadn't  ought  to  praise  himself.  Well,  Uncle  Henry  he 
always  gave  me  to  understand  that  he'd  see  me  com 
fortably  fixed  in  life;  and  he  got  me  a  situation  with 
old  Mitford.  He  was  tickled  to  death,  Uncle  Henry, 
and  he  said  it  was  a  bang-up  place  for  me,  and  there 
wasn't  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  rise  and  buy  a  part 
nership  in  the  business  if  I  done  anywhere  near  half 
decent. 

"Well,  sir,  what  happened?  The  very  morning  I 
went  down  to  begin  work,  that  old  Mitford  had  to  go 
off  somewhere,  and  so  there  wasn't  nobody  around  to 
give  me  instructions  what  I  was  to  do.  I  hung  around, 
kind  of  waiting,  but  it  wasn't  much  fun,  and  I  no 
ticed  a  little  sail-boat  of  the  old  man's  moored  a  piece 
out,  and  lookm'  very  inviting,  especially  as  there  was 
a  tidy  little  breeze  and  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky.  I  thought 


84          THE'  PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

I  might  as  well  put  in  my  time  instead  of  hangin' 
around  and  waitin'  for  tHe  boss,  and  a  good  time  I  had, 
though  I  was  a  bit  later  than  I  anticipated,  havin'  mis 
calculated  the  breeze  a  little.  Well,  bless  me  if  when 
I  come  back,  there  wasn't  old  Mitford  standin'  on  the 
dock  and  waitin';  and,  as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  just 
as  I  was  roundin'  up  a  sudden  whiff  of  wind  took  the 
boat  and  smashed  her  nose  up  against  the  dock  and  did 
considerable  damage.  No  mortal  bein'  could  know  that 
the  wind  was  comin'  at  just  that  moment,  but  the  old 
man  was  swearin'  mad,  and  when  we  went  into  the 
office  he  didn't  seem  to  conquer  it,  like  I  always  try 
to  any  of  my  evil  tempers,  so  he  got  me  real  upset,  too. 
He  jawed  and  jawed,  but  by-and-by  he  set  me  to  work 
on  some  accounts. 

"I  thought  that  was  as  easy  as  rollin'  off  a  log, 
for  I  was  always  smart  at  figurin'.  He  had  great 
big  books  and  all  kept  like  apple-pie.  He  evidently 
set  a  heap  by  them  books,  and  he  handled  them  like 
they  was  babies.  I  was  working  away,  and  every 
thing  would  have  been  all  right  except  the  old  man 
kept  growling  and  rumbling  like  an  amateur  volcano. 
He  made  me  nervous.  First  thing  you  know,  I  hap 
pened  to  upset  the  ink  bottle,  and  if  the  blamed  thing 
didn't  go  all  over  that  book  like  a  tidal  wave.  The  old 
man,  he  jumped  so  he,  most  hit  the  ceiling  and  he 


AN    EPISODE  85 

yelled,  'You  get  out  of  this  office,  and  don't  you  never 
show  your  loon  face  here  again.  Anybody  might  know 
your  father  come  from  South  Ca'liny !  He  wan't  never 
born  in  Maine.' 

"Well,  of  course,  if  he  was  such  an  old  dragon,  I 
didn't  want  to  work  for  him  anyway,  but  Uncle  Henry, 
he  was  considerable  riled,  and  he  made  it  rather  un 
comfortable  for  me  at  home — as  though  it  was  my 
fault.  A  couple  of  accidents  like  that  might  have 
happened  to  anybody,  as  I  told  him ;  but  there  are  some 
folks  that  can  never  see  the  difference  between  a  visi 
tation  and  a  fault.  If  things  go  wrong,  some  one  is 
always  to  blame. 

"I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  fix  Uncle  Henry,  and  the 
very  next  day  I  went  off  and  proposed  to  Nannie 
Means,  and  she  just  jumped  at  me.  There  aren't  any 
too  many  young  men  in  Winterhaven  anyway,  and  a 
girl  knows  she's  lucky  if  she  gets  one.  She  had  a  nice 
tidy  little  fortune  of  her  own,  and  it  looked  as  if  I  was 
all  fixed.  Uncle  Henry  was  pleased  as  Punch.  He  for 
got  he'd  ever  said  an  ugly  word,  and  was  as  smooth  as 
grease  to  me.  But,  of  course,  my  luck  had  to  turn.  It 
always  does. 

"I  told  Uncle  I'd  rather  study  law,  anyway,  than  go 
into  business,  and  he  said  there  was  no  reason  why  I 
shouldn't.  I  always  took  better  to  the  repose  of  a 


86          THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

student's  life  than  to  any  work  with  my  hands.  I  sup 
pose  I  was  made  that  way.  I'd  ought  to  have  had  a 
better  education. 

"I  always  thought  Nannie  was  a  good-natured  girl. 
She  was  big  and  stout,  and  I've  been  told  fat  women 
are  always  sweet-tempered,  but  I  know  now  that 
isn't  true.  No  sooner  did  she  have  me  good  and  tight 
than  she  began  to  pick  at  me  about  the  way  I  did  every 
thing.  Nothing  seemed  to  suit  her.  It  kep'  goin'  from 
bad  to  worse,  until  one  day  this  summer  when  a  whole 
lot  of  us  went  on  a  picnic  to  Knox  Beach,  and  some 
of  the  young  folks  went  in  bathin'.  Nothing  would  do 
but  I  must  teach  Nannie  to  swim.  Her  only  idea  of 
swimmin'  was  to  flap  her  hands  up  and  down,  and  I 
was  holdin'  her  chin  in  about  two  feet  of  water  and 
tryin'  to  explain,  and  she  not  listenin',  when  all  of  a 
sudden  my  hand  slipped.  She  just  grabbed  my  legs 
and  threw  me  like  a  shot,  and  she  came  down  on  top 
of  me.  There  we  lay.  She  hadn't  sense  enough  to  get 
up.  She  just  covered  me  all  over  and  scrabbled. 
I  couldn't  do  a  thing.  And  we'd  have  both  been 
drowned  with  our  feet  sticking  out  of  water  if  some 
of  the  others  hadn't  rushed  in  and  dragged  her  off. 
They  were  all  laughin'  fit  to  kill.  Well,  you'd  have 
thought  it  was  all  my  fault.  Anyway,  that  was  the  end 
of  me  and  Nannie.  Uncle  Henry  was  furious.  He  said 


AN   EPISODE  87 

I'd  thrown  away  my  luck  twice,  and  I  needn't  look  for 
another  chance.  The  worst  of  it  was,  Nannie  sent 
home  the  few  things  I'd  given  her.  I  opened  'em  right 
then,  and  there  was  a  little  locket  heart  that  used  to 
belong  to  Aunt  Maria  among  them.  Uncle  Henry  said 
I  hadn't  any  business  givin'  away  things  that  wasn't 
mine  to  give.  I  told  him  I'd  seen  it  kickin'  around  for 
years  and  I  didn't  suppose  he  set  any  store  by  it.  It 
wasn't  no  good,  only  the  kind  of  fool  thing  that  pleases 
a  girl. 

"But  he  wouldn't  listen  to  reason,  and  he  gave  me 
a  hundred-dollar-bill,  and  he  said,  'Here,  that's  the 
last  time  you'll  see  the  color  of  my  money.  I'm  sick 
of  you.  You  just  clear  out  and  look  out  for  yourself!' 

"Everybody  was  laughin'  at  me,  for  Nannie  had 
made  me  look  plumb  ridiculous.  I  couldn't  stand  it, 
and  besides  I  didn't  see  any  chance  for  a  man  in  Win- 
terhaven  anyway.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  my  place 
was  the  West.  So  I  shook  all  those  folks  from  my 
soles,  and  came  to  St.  Etienne." 

"Go  on.  It's  deeply  interesting.  What  happened 
here?" 

"Oh,  of  course  I  went  straight  up  to  Windsor's 
office ;  but  do  you  know,  I  went  four  or  five  times  be 
fore  they  even  let  me  see  him.  All  nonsense,  acting  as 
if  he  was  some  royal  potentate  that  was  just  a  little 


88  THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

* 

too  good  for  common  folks  to  gaze  on.  I  call  it  an  in 
sult  to  American  manhood  for  a  man  to  shut  himself 
up  that  way." 

"You  must  remember  that  he's  busy.  It  isn't  because 
he's  haughty,  but  such  a  man's  time  is  immensely  val 
uable." 

"Well,  anyway,  when  I  did  get  to  see  him  he  wan't 
any  too  sweet.  He  might  have  been  a  fish  for  the  way 
he  looked  at  me.  But  I  didn't  kneel  to  him,  I  can  tell 
you,  for  all  he  thinks  he's  so  big.  I  started  in  to  talk 
to  him,  but  he  just  cut  me  off,  and  he  said,  'I  like  to 
give  any  Winterhaven  boy  a  chance.  Perhaps  Mr. 
Harrison  can  find  you  an  opening.'  Well,  under  that 
infernal  Harrison  I've  been  for  three  weeks,  and 
mighty  unpleasant  weeks  they've  been.  These  western 
fellers  haven't  got  any  manners.  Harrison  is  about 
the  biggest  savage  I  ever  saw,  and  you'd  think  that 
every  little  mistake  a  man  makes  was  a  crime  by  the 
way  he  hauls  you  over  the  coals.  I  don't  suppose  I 
could  have  stood  it  much  longer  anyway,  for  I  won't 
be  treated  like  a  nigger ;  but,  sir,  the  way  things  came 
to  an  end  was  just  too  much  for  me." 

"So  things  are  at  an  end,  are  they?" 

"Well,  I  should  think  so !  Yesterday  was  a  wild  day 
on  'Change.  I  don't  believe  in  speculation  myself,  but 
I  tell  you,  you  hear  it  talked  about  in  that  old  repro- 


AN    EPISODE  89 

bate's  office.  Some  one  was  having  great  fun,  every 
thing  his  own  way,  and  thinking  he  was  the  greatest 
man  on  earth  because  every  one  else  was  scared  blue. 
Mr.  Harrison  and  a  beast  of  a  fellow,  who's  Windsor's 
private  secretary,  were  talking  about  it.  Harrison's 
office  opens  right  out  of  a  room  where  four  or  five  of 
us  were  working,  and  I  was  right  near  the  door  that 
was  open  a  little  way.  I  suppose  I  hadn't  ought  to  have 
listened,  but  it  was  so  interesting  I  couldn't  help  it, 
and  I  held  my  pen  still  and  my  ears  cocked.  They  were 
laughing  and  having  great  jokes  about  the  fun  there'd 
be,  because  old  Windsor  was  goin'  to  sail  in  and  ex 
plode  everything.  That  fellow,  the  secretary— he's  the 
kind  that  holds  on  tight  to  some  big  man's  coat  tails, 
and  thinks  he's  the  whole  show.  Perhaps  you've  seen 
him?" 

Lenox  nodded. 

"He  says,  Til  send  over  a  note  by  one  of  the  clerks/ 
just  as  if  we  were  dogs.  Pretty  soon  Harrison  comes 
out  and  says,  'Here,  Repburn,  do  you  know  Mr.  Rugg, 
over  on  'Change,  by  sight?'  and  I  says,  'Yes,  sir,  I 
think  so.'  'Well,  take  him  this  note  right  away/  he 
said.  He  used  me  like  an  errand  boy  several  times  be 
fore.  Well,  I  took  the  note,  tickled  to  death  to  think 
I  was  goin'  to  see  a  little  of  the  fun.  I  went  up  to 
Rugg  and  said,  'Mr.  Rugg,  I've  got  a  note  to  you 


90  THE    PRIZE    TO    THE   HARDY 

from  Mr.  Kemyss.'  Kemyss  is  the  name  of  the  secre 
tary.  'Have  you  ?'  says  he,  very  pleasantly ;  'What  is 
it?'  'I  think  it's  an  order  to  buy  all  the  December 
wheat  you  can,'  I  said.  'Very  likely.  That's  just 
what  I  should  expect.  But  you're  mistaken  in  your 
man.  There's  Mr.  Rugg  over  there,'  says  he.  So  I 
thanked  him,  for  he  talked  to  me  like  a  gentleman, 
and  went  to  look  for  Rugg.  I  saw  the  fellow  I'd 
spoken  to  by  mistake  just  streaking  across  the  room. 
He  'most  knocked  down  every  one  in  his  way.  And 
it  was  funny,  too.  He  seemed  leisurely  enough  a 
minute  before." 

Repburn  stopped  and  looked  at  Lenox  in  a  puzzled 
kind  of  way. 

"Oh,  go  on,  man,  I  want  to  hear  it  all,"  said  Frank. 

"By  the  time  I  found  Rugg — for  he  turned  out  to  be 
in  the  opposite  direction  from  where  the  fellow  point 
ed,  and  I  took  my  time,  for  I  wanted  to  see  all  I  could 
of  the  'Change — they  were  yelling  so  in  the  pit  that 
I  couldn't  make  out  what  was  happening.  They  were 
more  like  a  pack  of  hyenas  than  anything  I  ever  heard. 
I  tell  you,  men  wouldn't  think  it  was  respectable  to  act 
that  way  in  Winterhaven. 

"Well,  it  turned  out  that  the  fellow  I'd  spoken  to 
by  mistake  was  the  last  man  in  St.  Etienne  that  Wind 
sor  would  want  to  take  into  his  confidence.  Harrison 


AN    EPISODE  91 

somehow  found  out  about  it  all,  and  he  just  exhausted 
the  dictionary  on  me  because  I'd  made  a  perfectly  in 
nocent  mistake.  My  luck  again !  This  afternoon,  while 
I  was  workin'  I  got  a  note  from  that  infernal  Kemyss 
sayin'  Mr.  Windsor  did  not  desire  my  services  any 
longer,  and  inclosing  a  month's  pay.  I'll  show  you  the 
letter.  It's  a  perfect  insult." 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  and  his  face  began  to 
work.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  began  to  clap  his 
hands  wildly  here  and  there. 

"By  jingo!"  he  exclaimed.  "I've  lost  my  pocket- 
book.  I've  lost  the  letter,  and  'most  every  cent  I  had 
in  the  world!  I  must  have  had  my  pocket  picked  in 
that  elevator.  They  hadn't  ought  to  allow  people  to 
crowd  you  that  way !" 

He  sat  down  and  stared  at  Lenox  with  a  white  face. 

"Doesn't  it  just  beat  all?  Isn't  it  all  of  a  piece? 
Here  I  am  in  a  strange  city,  penniless,  without  a 
friend.  What  on  earth  am  I  going  to  do  ?" 

"Do!"  said  Lenox.  "Why,  man,  any  one  can  see 
that  there's  more  work  waiting  to  be  done  in  this  town 
than  there  are  men  to  do  it.  If  you've  failed  as  clerk,, 
get  out  and  break  stone  or  drive  a  grocery  wagon, 
and  do  it  well." 

"It  isn't  fair  that  Providence  should  spite  me  all 
the  time.  I  haven't  done  a  single  thing  that  was  wrong 


92  THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

except  perhaps  to  listen  to  all  that  talk.  And  that 
wasn't  a  crime,  that  it  should  ruin  me.  Any  man  would 
have  done  it.  And  now  I  haven't  the  month's  pay  I 
earned !" 

"Or  didn't  earn,"  said  Lenox  to  himself,  but  aloud : 
"Didn't  they  pay  you  with  a  check  ?" 

"Yes,  but  I  got  them  to  cash  it.  I  don't  know  any 
body  at  the  banks." 

"Go  out  and  advertise  it  in  to-morrow  morning's 
papers,  and  see  the  police.  It's  possible  you  may  get  it 
back." 

Repburn  buried  his  face  and  moaned.  Lenox  could 
not  help  feeling  sorry  for  the  loosely-knit,  abject  crea 
ture,  so  he  clapped  him  on  the  back  and  spoke  en 
couragingly. 

"Cheer  up.  A  night's  sleep  will  set  you  on  your  feet 
again,  and  if  the  sky  is  as  bright  to-morrow  as  it  is 
to-day,  you'll  feel  courage  to  begin  all  over  again. 
You  can't  feel  blue  in  this  air.  It's  like  electricity. 
There's  plenty  of  work  to  be  done,  and  I'm  sure  you'll 
find  your  place." 

"It's  all  very  well  for  you  to  talk.  It  isn't  you  that 
have  had  bad  luck." 

"Well,  I'll  stand  by  you  to  the  extent  of  my  power. 
I'm  not  opulent,  and  I  haven't  any  influence  out  here, 
I  know,  but  I'll  try  to  be  a  friend.  You  must  let  me 


AN    EPISODE  93 

lend  you  something  to  see  you  through  this  emer 
gency.  Come,  be  a  man." 

"You're  the  only  friend  I've  got,  Lenox." 

He  gave  a  sob  or  two. 

"I  know  one  thing  that  would  do  me  good,  and  that 
would  be  to  lay  out  that  infernal  Harrison  cold,  and 
Kemyss  beside  him.  But  I'm  just  plumb  discouraged. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  luck?" 

"Now  go  home  and  go  to  bed/'  said  Lenox. 


CHAPTER  VII 

LOVE   BY    NIGHT 

In  her  own  little  parlor,  Mrs.  Lyell  gathered  a  few 
of  her  friends  to  listen  to  the  reading  of  a  tiny  book 
of  hers,  now  on  the  eve  of  publication.  In  Paradise  on 
Earth  she  had  unfolded,  with  charming  variety  of  illus 
tration,  her  philosophy.  A  basis  of  solid  education  had 
served  not  to  make  this  little  lady  a  prig,  but  simply 
to  illuminate  her  world,  and  the  sum  of  her  reason 
ings  was  this :  fix  your  mind  simply  on  what  is  noble 
and  beautiful,  forget  the  sordid,  the  belittling,  the 
cruel,  and  it  will  be  as  though  it  did  not  exist.  Your 
universe  shall  consist  of  the  harmony  which  you  cre 
ate. 

Never  was  a  planet  considered  entirely  fitted  up  for 
business  without  a  satellite,  and  Mrs.  Lyell  had  a  per 
fect  nebula  of  such  surrounding  her.  Yearning  to 
share  her  spiritual  peace,  with  fluttering  consciousness 
of  half-stifled  aspirations,  with  the  adoring  love  which 
an  humble-minded  woman  feels  for  the  nobler  of  her 

94 


LOVE    BY    NIGHT  95' 

own  sex,  they  listened.  While  her  words  flowed  like 
honey,  it  seemed  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world  to  slip 
off  the  fettering  harness  of  care,  and  live  that  supernal 
existence ;  to  let  worry,  like  an  outworn  mantle,  drop, 
leaving  celestial  white  linen  to  gleam  in  the  radiance  of 
the  sun. 

Occasionally  a  listener — for  the  little  group  was  not 
made  up  of  the  rich  and  fashionable  women  to  whom 
life  is  easy-going,  but  largely  of  those  who  must  face 
daily  drudgeries  and  problems — a  listener  would  won 
der  dully  how  one  shuffles  off  a  colicky  baby  or  a  big 
week's  mending.  But  Mrs.  Lyell,  with  her  calm  eyes, 
was  a  proof  visible  that  it  could  be  done.  Her  lips 
wore  a  smile  almost  as  continuously  placid  as  that 
of  a  kindergarten  teacher.  When  she  did  not  rise 
above  the  littleness  of  the  world,  she  forgot  the  trivial 
in  the  great, — and  many  there  were  who  would  do 
likewise,  but  few  who  attained. 

Vera  watched  her,  fascinated.  Miss  Windsor  was 
determined  that  life  should  be  a  problem  whether  it 
wanted  to  be  or  not.  She  did  not  sympathize  with 
the  simple-minded  William  Henry  of  beloved  memory, 
who  said,  "Dory's  mother  is  teaching  him  to  enter  a 
room.  Why  do  you  have  to  learn  that  ?  Just  walk  in." 

Within  herself  she  found  such  a  tumultuous  self- 
conflicting  creature,  that  the  sight  of  her  friend's 


96          THE    PRIZE   TO    THE    HARDY 

serenity  lured  her  like  waters  in  unruffled  moonlight, 
from  the  pure  force  of  contrast. 

And  now  they  were  all  gone  and  Mrs.  Lyell  sat 
alone.  She  was  glowing  from  the  sweet  words  of  the 
worshiping  circle.  Her  nature,  electric  and  vibrating 
in  response  to  the  pulsating  needs  of  her  fellow  women, 
left  her  still  quivering  after  her  afternoon's  effort.  She 
could  not  eat  dinner,  and  the  very  room  where  she  had 
spoken  seemed  to  her  fragrant  with  adulation.  She 
would  not  leave  it  to  drop  to  any  lower  plane.  The 
servant  brought  her  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  bit  of  toast, 
and  she  lingered  in  the  little  parlor,  from  which  the  at 
mosphere  of  delight  gradually  thinned  and  passed 
away.  It  was  not  a  luxurious  room,  but  it  fitted  her 
because  it  had  the  charm  and  austerity  of  herself. 
Just  now  it  was  sweet  with  the  perfume  of  roses  with 
which  the  visitors  had  marked  their  tribute^ 

Here  and  thus  Mr.  Kemyss  found  her.  The  memory 
of  the  softness  of  her  hand  the  night  before,  when  he 
had  kissed  it,  haunted  and  lured  him,  first  to  restless 
ness,  and  then  to  seeking  her. 

"Mr.  Lyell  is  out  of  town,  but  Mrs.  Lyell  is  at  home, 
sir/'  the  servant  said,  and  the  information  seemed  too 
good  to  be  true.  It  fitted  his  mood  to  see  her  alone. 

"How  festive  you  are  with  all  these  flowers!  Have 
you  been  having  great  doings?"  he  asked. 


LOVE   BY   NIGHT  97 

He  became  conscious,  from  her  very  smile,  that  she 
was  in  some  unusually  high-strung  condition,  and  this 
again  pleased  him  like  a  draft  of  wine. 

"Nothing  very  exciting — only  a  few  friends  to  whom 
I've  been  reading  my  book.  And  now  I  am  quite  alone, 
as  you  see,  and  the  reaction,  after  the  company  of  ap 
preciative  people,  was  a  little  depressing ;  so  I  am  par 
ticularly  grateful  to  you  for  coming  this  evening, 
Cyril.  Of  course  one  ought  not  to  be  depressed,  but 
I  was,  just  a  bit.  We  always  crave  more  than  we  get, 
don't  we?" 

He  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"I  think  you  have  every  reason  to  be  hungry,"  he 
said.  "You  have  never  yet  been  fed." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?  My  life  is  a  great  deal 
richer  than  that  of  most  people.  What  makes  you 
think  I  am  starved  ?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  dare  to  tell  you  what  I 
mean." 

"Nonsense !  We  are  too  good  friends  for  you  to  talk 
in  such  fashion.  You  may  dare  to  tell  me  anything, 
and  now  that  you  have  roused  my  curiosity,  I  insist 
that  you  be  frank.  I'm  woman  enough  for  that." 

She  smiled  at  him  again,  and  he  surveyed  her  in 
silence.  Her  dress  was  of  soft  gray,  and  her  mouse- 
colored  hair  had  a  peculiar  curve,  like  that  of  Clytie, 


98  THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

in  the  way  it  grew  on  her  temples.  Everything  around 
her  was  full  and  round  and  delicate.  She  was  such  a 
dove-like  creature,  that  it  filled  him  with  a  certain 
masculine  rage  that  she  should  not  be  cooing,  instead 
of  discoursing  philosophy  to  a  lot  of  silly  women.  He 
could  feel  her  presence  and  the  opportunity  to  talk 
to  her  alone  as  long  as  he  pleased  mounting  to  his 
brain  like  the  fumes  of  alcohol. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "convince  me  that  I  am  hungry. 
It  isn't  often  a  man's  duty  to  try  to  waken  discontent." 

"I  don't  need  to  stir  it  up.  You've  only  to  ask  your 
self.  Do  you  think  yourself  wholly  satisfied  ?" 

"Sometimes,  yes.  Most  of  the  time,  no,"  she  an 
swered  slowly,  half-reluctantly.  "But  I  suppose  that 
is  universal  human  fate.  We  are  all  dissatisfied  so 
long  as  we  are  imperfect.  I  don't  know  exactly  what 
I  long  for." 

"I  do,"  he  blurted  out. 

She  looked  at  him  suddenly,  and  a  great  wave  of 
color  swept  into  her  face. 

"Tell  me,"  she  asked  breathlessly. 

"First  tell  me,"  he  answered.  "You  married  at 
seventeen  or  eighteen,  didn't  you  ?" 

She  nodded. 

"Why  did  you  do  it?" 

"Cyril,  even  you  have  hardly  the  right  to  tread  on 


LOVE   BY    NIGHT  99 

that  ground,"  she  said  sadly;  "but  I  will  allow  your 
friendship  its  privilege.  I  was  alone  in  the  world, 
and  I  married  out  of  what  I  might  call  a  sentimental 
impulse." 

"And  you've  outgrown  that?" 

"Of  course  I  have.  It  didn't  last  long.  I  learned 
almost  immediately  that  it  was  based  on  the  senses ; 
and  no  such  love — why,  it  wasn't  love — it  was  a  mere 
instinct — unreasoning.  I've  learned  now  what  higher 
love  is." 

"And  what  is  it?" 

"It  is  what  I  have  for  my  women  friends.  It  is 
based  on  a  sympathy  ol  souls  and  not  the  attraction  of 
bodies.  It  is  placid  and  calm  and  satisfying." 

"But  you  just  told  me  it  wasn't  satisfying,"  he  an 
swered. 

"Well,  sometimes — just  for  a  few  moments,"  she 
laughed.  "I  admit  you've  caught  me,  Cyril." 

"But  there  are  marriages  that  give  content.  How 
do  you  account  for  them?" 

"Oh,  there  are  some  people  who  never  outgrow  that 
childish  stage,  and  there  are  others — and  these  I  be 
lieve  are  the  really  happy  marriages — where  that  is 
all  left  behind,  or  a  sympathetic  companionship  takes 
its  place." 

"Is  that  really  your  thought  about  it  all?" 


ioo         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

He  waited  for  what  seemed  a  long  time  for  his  an 
swer,  and  then  she  said  in  very  low  tones : 

"If  it  isn't,  don't  probe  me  any  further.  I  refuse  to 
think  deeper  on  that  line." 

He  looked  around  and  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"Now  let  me  tell  you  what  I  believe,"  he  said.  "I 
always  think,  when  I  come  here,  that  this  room  is  typi 
cal  of  you.  It  is  virginal.  It  is  warm  and  glowing  and 
lovely,  but  it  looks  like  the  home  of  a  woman  who  has 
not  learned  what  love  is." 

She  half  rose,  but  he  waved  her  down  with  his  hand 
and  went  on. 

"You  asked  me  to  tell  you— and  now  I  have  begun 
you  must  hear  me  out.  I  don't  mean  the  love  which 
you  talk  about  as  satisfying  you — the  love  of  a  horde 
of  women  who  adore  in  you  that  which  they  lack  them 
selves — the  superabundance  of  your  nature.  Why,  that 
is  only  a  titillation,  not  love.  It  warms  and  tickles  you 
for  a  moment,  and  as  soon  as  it  has  passed  it  leaves  you 
feeling  cold  and  half-despairing,  as  I  found  you  to 
night." 

She  did  not  look  up  now,  and  after  a  moment  of  hesi 
tation  he  went  on. 

"Look  at  yourself.  You  have  the  most  splendid 
great  heart.  You  are  full  of  the  possibilities  of  emo 
tions  you  never  feel.  If  you  drank  the  cup  of  love  you 


LOVE    BY    NIGHT  101 

would  not  just  sip  a  little  from  the  top,  as  most  women 
do,  with  their  eyes  on  the  world  and  their  minds  di 
vided  between  the  lover  and  the  next  new  gown.  You 
would  drink  it  to  its  glorious  depths,  and  let  it  intoxi 
cate  you.  You  are  capable  of  giving  yourself  to  it 
wholly,  and  yet  you  waste  your  life  in  communion  with 
a  lot  of  women  about  poetry  and  philosophy.  Why, 
Jean,  those  are  only  the  preliminaries  to  life.  Life  it 
self  is  love,  nothing  but  love.  And  you  are  letting  it 
slip!  Pretty  soon  the  power  of  feeling  emotion  will 
fade  out  of  you,  and  that  lovely  body  of  yours,  which 
is  a  thing  for  a  man  to  dream  of,  will  wither,  and  it 
will  be  too  late.  Life  will  be  gone,  and  you  will  be 
nothing  but  the  shriveled  husk  of  a  woman  with  no 
sweet  nut  within." 

"You  are  cruel — cruel  to  say  this;  but  I  know  it, 
Cyril,  God  help  me — I  know  it,  though  I  have  tried 
never  to  think  it.  But  I  can't  help  myself  now.  It's 
too  late !  Here  I  am.  I  am— married !" 

She  threw  out  her  arms  despairingly. 

Even  while  he  spoke  he  cursed  himself  for  his  folly 
— and  yet  let  himself  be  possessed  by  the  impulse  to 
get  a  thing  so  sweet  and  lovely  as  this— to  taste  pleas 
ure  for  the  moment  and  forget  the  days  to  come.  And 
it  was  more  than  interesting  to  penetrate  into  the  re 
cesses  of  a  pretty  woman's  heart.  He  enjoyed  it. 


102         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

"Married!"  he  answered  scornfully.  "Do  you  call 
that  marriage?  I  know  you  don't.  Is  Ned  Lyell  your 
mate?  Do  you  think  he  could  ever  abandon  himself 
to  passion  ?  And  if  he  did,  would  you  respond  ?  I  know 
what  he  thinks.  He  admires  you.  What  man  wouldn't  ? 
No  man  could  be  near  you  without  having  some  red 
blood  creeping  into  his  admiration,  and  that,  too,  Ned 
has  experienced ;  but  his  love  is  such  a  shallow  weak 
ling  that  all  it  amounts  to  is  this.  Thinking  that  you 
do  not  love  him,  and  that  he  has  marred  your  life,  he 
feels  it  the  act  of  chivalry  to  wipe  himself  out  as  much 
as  possible  and  demand  nothing  of  you.  If  I  despise 
Ned  Lyell  for  one  thing  more  than  another,  it  is  be 
cause  he  doesn't  rise  up  and  tread  everything  under 
foot  until  he  really  owns  you, — that  he  has  such  a  pos 
sibility  within  reach,  and  that  he  is  not  man  enough  to 
grasp  it.  He  walks  all  around  you  and  never  touches 
you.  He  is  a  coward." 

She  sat  very  still  now,  not  even  shrinking,  as  most 
women  would,  from  his  home  thrusts,  and  the  sight  of 
her  goaded  him  to  still  further  loss  of  self-possession. 

"If  I  were  your  husband,"  he  said,  "I  would  make 
you  love  me,  and  even  without  being  your  husband,  I 
mean  to  make  you  love  me,  as  I  love  you,  with  every 
thing  there  is  in  me." 

Now  would  she  look  up?   Yes,  she  did,  and  there 


LOVE   BY   NIGHT  103 

was  a  glow  in  her  eyes  that  he  had  never  seen  there 
before.  It  almost  rewarded  him  for  having  got  him 
self  into  such  a  tight  place.  How  lovely  she  was !  He 
sprang  impulsively  to  his  feet,  but  quickly  as  he  moved 
she  was  swifter,  and  now  stood  with  her  chair  between 
himself  and  her,  though  she  shook  from  head  to  foot 
as  she  waved  him  imperiously  back. 

"No,"  she  said.  "No,  Cyril.  This  has  come  as  a  bolt 
out  of  a  clear  sky,  and  almost  stunned  me,  but  not 
quite.  I  must  have  time  to  think,  before  either  of  us 
acts.  Is  it  really  true  ?" 

"It's  the  truest  thing  in  the  world,"  he  answered. 

"Yes,"  she  said  musingly,  "I  have  dreamed  of  it,  but 
it  was  nothing  more  than  a  dream.  Do  you  truly  offer 
me  the  reality?  If  I  knew  that — if  I  knew  that — how 
infinitely  alluring  it  would  be !" 

"Let  me  prove  it!"  and  again  he  stepped  forward, 
but  her  eyes  forbade  him.  Yet  she  seemed  transformed 
from  the  fragile  dove-colored  beauty  to  some  glowing 
oriental  creature.  The  temptation  to  touch  her  cheek 
and  see  if  it  was  as  soft  as  it  looked  surged  in  him. 
So  they  stood  gazing  at  each  other,  he  seeing  in  her  the 
embodiment  of  warmth  and  passion,  she  with  a  vision 
of  some  spiritual  ecstasy  in  him.  So  solitary  are  souls 
even  when  they  think  themselves  most  at  one,  that 
neither  of  them  could  imagine  the  other's  point  of 


104         THE    PRIZE   TO    THE    HARDY 

view.  And  yet  when  she  broke  the  breathless  silence, 
her  quiet,  measured  tones  startled  him.  He  could  not 
understand  her  self-control,  when  he  was  at  white 
heat. 

"Cyril,"  she  said,  "whatever  this  is  to  mean  to  us — 
and  I  must  have  time  to  search  myself  and  see  if 
there  is  anything  in  me  that  responds  to  your  demand 
—but  whatever  is  to  be  the  result  of  all  this,  I  thank 
you  for  what  you  have  said.  I  thank  you  for  having 
let  me  catch  a  glimpse,  even  through  a  half-shut  door, 
of  love.  The  thing  I  most  respect  in  you  is  what  most 
people  would  condemn.  That  is  your  superiority  to 
conventions.  If  my  marriage  is  a  sham,  as  we  both 
know  it  is,  I  reverence  you  for  ignoring  its  unreality, 
and  abandoning  yourself  to  the  primal  human  in 
stincts." 

"If  only  you,  too,  would  abandon  yourself  to  them !" 

"Not  yet !  Not  yet !  I  do  not  dare  to  yield  without 
thinking,  and  so  I  must  not  look  longer  at  your  castle 
in  the  air,  lest  it  lure  me  beyond  the  power  of  my 
reason." 

"Then  look!" 

"No.  To-morrow — the  next  day — you  shall  know. 
And  yet  how  can  I  refuse  to  yield  ?  I  thought — forgive 
rne  for  even  thinking  it — I  thought  you  loved  Vera." 

He  started  as  if  a  knife  had  pricked  him.   The  heat 


LOVE    BY    NIGHT  105 

of  passion  into  which  he  had  worked  himself,  lured  by 
his  own  very  fluency  of  expression,  seemed  to  fade  in 
an  instant,  leaving  him  clammy  and  faint.   He  had  a 
sense  of  nausea.  What  demon  had  possessed  him  ?  Her 
very  beauty  sickened  him  with  apprehension,  for  this 
was  the  very  type  of  woman  to  give  herself  entirely  to 
a  passion  once  awakened.   Suppose  he  had  opened  the 
flood-gates,  was  he  not  like  to  be  drowned  by  the  out- 
rushing  stream?    Some  reflection  of  his  new  mood 
communicated  itself  to  her,  and  she  drew  still  farther 
away  from  him,  but,  being  herself  honest,  her  doubts 
did  not  take  the  same  form  as  his.   She  leaned  against 
the  mantel  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hand  while 
he  waited  in  speechless  agony  for  his  doom.    Would 
she  compromise  him?   Why  had  her  emotional  nature 
pulled  out  of  him  the  semblance  of  a  passion  he  never 
felt,  and  never  meant  to  feel  ?    Love  the  whole  of  life, 
forsooth !   Love  was  a  toy  to  amuse  the  idle  hour,  or 
perhaps  a  ladder  to  help  one  in  one's  ambitions.   And 
he  could  think  of  no  immediate  way  out  of  this. 

"As  I  said,  what  this  is  to  mean  to  you  and  me,  Cyril, 
I  don't  yet  know.  I  am  dizzy  from  the  very  idea  of 
its  meaning  anything.  You  must  go,  and  let  me  think." 

"Yes,  dear,  I  realize  that  there  is  duty  as  well  as 
love."  He  managed  to  get  this  out,  and  congratulated 
himself  on  its  neatness  as  an  entering  wedge. 


io6         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

"Yes,  there  is  duty  as  well  as  love ;  but  whether  love 
is  not  the  highest  duty  we  must  consider,"  she  said 
softly.  "Good  night  now."  She  put  out  both  her  hands, 
and  he  kissed  them,  awkwardly  he  felt,  agonized  by  this 
first  sign  of  melting. 

And,  out  of  doors,  the  stars  were  shining  as  serenely 
as  ever,  the  night  air  was  as  cool  as  though  there  were 
no  heated  blood,  and  the  distant  chime  of  bells  in  the 
city  hall  rang  out  the  close  of  the  hour  in  which  he  had 
made  a  fool  of  himself.  He  cursed  them  and  her  as 
he  walked  home. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DAYLIGHT   LOVE 

It  was  in  the  common  light  of  noontide  of  the  next 
day  that  Mr.  Kemyss  rang  the  bell  of  Mr.  Windsor's 
house,  stepped  into  the  library — the  room  in  which  he 
was  most  at  home — and  waited.  A  statuette  of  the 
Venus  of  Melos  looked  at  him  with  her  supercilious 
head  on  one  side.  He  felt  uncomfortable,  and  shifted 
his  position,  only  to  meet  the  stony  glare  and  long 
suffering  contempt  of  a  bust  of  Dante.  There  was  no 
avoiding  the  fact  that  everything  in  the  world  was 
out  of  harmony. 

When  Miss  Windsor  came  into  the  room  in  answer 
to  his  summons,  he  could  not  help  contrasting  her  in 
his  mind  with  the  voluptuous  creature  of  the  evening 
before.  She  looked  so  slender  and  girlish.  Her  beauty 
seemed  to  him  meager  in  its  type.  It  did  not  appeal  to 
his  senses. 

"Miss  Windsor,"  he  said,  "your  father  asked  me  to 
come  up  and  get  some  stones  about  whose  re-setting 
you  spoke  to  him  this  morning.   He  forgot  them." 
107 


io8         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

"Isn't  he  coming  home  to  luncheon  ?" 

"No;  a  couple  of  eastern  men,  looking  after  invest 
ments,  fell  on  him,  and  he  said  he  would  take  them  to 
lunch  at  the  club  and  drive  them  about  a  bit  after 
ward." 

"He  did  not  need  to  make  such  haste  about  the  jew 
els.  I  spoke  of  them,  but  I  was  in  no  hurry  to  have  the 
work  done." 

"Have  you  yet  to  learn  that  to  gratify  your  slight 
est  desire  is  to  him  the  most  imperative  business  ?  This 
is  the  attitude  of  mind  you  extort  from  most  men,"  he 
said,  smiling. 

She  frowned  a  little  and  turned  to  go  up  stairs. 

"Since  you  were  so  good  as  to  come  for  them,  I  will 
get  you  the  stones,"  she  said,  "but  it  really  wasn't  nec 
essary." 

As  she  came  down  again  a  footman  was  just  enter 
ing  the  hall  to  announce  luncheon,  and  she  turned  to 
Kemyss  impulsively : 

"Won't  you  come  in  with  me?  Father's  place  is  set 
for  him.  You  may  see  if  you  can  fill  it.  It  quite  takes 
away  my  appetite  to  eat  alone." 

The  instant  she  had  spoken  she  regretted  it,  but,  so 
accustomed  had  she  become  to  meeting  this  man  fa 
miliarly,  that  at  times  she  forgot  the  new  role  of  lover 
which  he  had  taken  upon  himself.  But  she  colored 


DAYLIGHT   LOVE  109 

with  annoyance  when,  by  the  instant  lighting  of  his 
eyes,  he  told  her  he  had  not  forgotten.  It  was  too  late 
now  to  recall  her  invitation,  and  she  led  the  way  to 
the  dining-room,  resolving  that  the  servants  should 
not  leave  them  for  a  moment  alone. 

But  his  manner  was  so  much  that  of  the  easy-going, 
good  comrade  she  had  known  for  a  year  or  two,  that 
she  threw  precautions  to  the  wind,  a  little  ashamed  of 
her  own  self-consciousness,  and  joined  in  his  cheerful 
chatter. 

As  they  rose  from  the  table,  he  said : 

"Mr.  Windsor  told  me  he  had  some  beautiful  new 
orchids.  Will  you  show  them  to  me  ?" 

"Yes,  if  you  are  not  too  busy  to  wait." 

"Which  means,  I  infer,  that  you  think  I  ought  to  be. 
Well,  it  so  happens  I  am  not,  and  I  will  not  affect  an 
untruth — even  to  live  up  to  your  ideals  of  duty." 

"Come  then,  sinner.  I  shall  tell  my  father  on  you 
when  he  comes  home." 

The  atmosphere  in  the  conservatory  was  warm  and 
indolent,  and  the  orchids  suggested  laziness  and  lux 
ury.  In  the  center  stood  a  little  pool  where  butterfly- 
tailed  Japanese  goldfish  darted  about,  and  fascinating 
little  plants,  that  righted  themselves  every  time  they 
were  turned  upside  down  on  the  surface,  floated  in 
branchy  masses.  The  two  found  themselves  playing 


I  io        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

like  children  with  these  toys,  and  trying  to  organize  a 
procession  of  fish  through  the  miniature  arch  below. 
Once  their  hands  came  in  contact,  and  Kemyss  seized 
her  fingers  under  the  water. 

"Let  me  go,  sir,"  she  cried.  "You  are  trying  to  catch 
goldfish,  not  me." 

"On  the  contrary,  I'm  trying  to  catch  you.  The  fishes 
may  go  where  they  please,  for  all  I  care."  He  lifted  the 
dripping  hand,  still  holding  it  tight. 

"I  wonder  if  it  will  be  mine  some  day,"  he  said. 

"I  wonder,  too.  I'm  sure  I  haven't  the  least  idea," 
she  answered,  smiling.  "Who  do  you  think  can  tell 
us?  Cyril,  I've  grown  so  accustomed  to  you  as  a  friend 
I  really  do  not  know  whether  you  are  necessary  to  me 
or  only  familiar.  And  yet  if  I  loved  you,  I  should  know 
it,  shouldn't  I  ?  You  see,  I've  had  no  experience  to  tell 
me."  She  was  blushing  and  laughing  at  her  own  con 
fusion. 

"Well,  as  I  have  no  doubts,"  he  replied,  "and  am 
having  plenty  of  experience,  couldn't  you  take  me  as 
an  instructor?" 

"You  are  biased.  No,  I  fear  me  I  must  learn  the 
lesson  by  myself,  and  as  yet  I  have  not  begun  its  al 
phabet.  I'm  afraid  even  Eugenia  Lyell  can't  help  me, 
though  I  would  follow  her  advice  about  anything  else." 

Kemyss  dropped  the  imprisoned  hand  and  caught  the 


DAYLIGHT   LOVE  in 

tiled  coping  of  the  pool  as  if  to  steady  himself  against 
his  faintness. 

"Vera,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "for  heaven's  sake  don't 
consult  Mrs.  Lyell.  Don't  consult  any  one.  Let  this 
be  a  sacred  relation  between  you  and  me.  It  makes  no 
difference  what  any  other  mortal  being  thinks.  If  you 
can  learn  to  love  me,  the  service  and  devotion  of  my 
life  are  yours.  Don't,  I  beg  you,  submit  it  to  the  reason 
of  an  outsider — as  though  love  could  be  anything  but 
a  spontaneous  growth  in  your  own  heart.  If  you  would 
only  yield  to  it,  Vera — the  sweetest,  happiest,  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world — if  you  would  only  give 
yourself  to  it !" 

He  watched  her,  tense  with  anxiety,  as  she  dipped 
her  ringers  again  and  again  into  the  water  and  lifted 
them,  watching  idly  the  drops  that  fell.  Could  it  be 
only  last  night  that  he  had  jeopardized  everything?  It 
seemed  ages  ago.  He  had  suffered  the  torment  of  years 
since  then.  What  devil  made  that  woman  so  enticing 
that  he  forgot  all  sense  and  all  his  future?  Whenever 
a  man  makes  a  fool  of  himself  there  is  a  woman  behind 
it.  It  is  the  woman's  fault.  He  longed  to  curse  the 
woman  aloud  and  rid  himself  of  his  terror  and  fury. 
And  now  suppose  Vera  should  drop  the  faintest  hint 
of  all  this  to  her  philosopher  and  friend?  One  breath 
would  blow  away  his  fabric  of  ambition,  and  even 


H2         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

alienate  his  business  chief,  and  leave  him  helpless.  He 
must  do  something  to  quiet  that  other  woman,  but  as 
yet,  he  was  too  agitated  to  think  what.  And  at  last 
Vera  spoke. 

"Cyril,  I  don't  believe  in  hothouse  wooing.  And 
really,  after  luncheon  one  ought  to  be  having  a  siesta, 
not  playing  with  little  fishes." 

"I  do  not  see  that  time  and  place  make  any  differ 
ence.  It  is  the  central  fact  that  signifies,  nothing  else." 

She  sprang  up  and  gave  a  quick  little  motion  as  if  to 
dismiss  thought. 

"Go  away,  now.  I  don't  want  you,  and  I  don't  want 
to  talk  about  this.  You  promised  me  that  you  would 
not  speak  of  it  again  till  I  gave  you  permission." 

"You  should  not  exact  promises  that  are  too  hard  to 
keep,"  he  said.  "I  think  about  this  day  and  night.  How 
can  I  help  it,  if  words  will  come  ?" 

"Well,  I'm  not  going  to  marry  a  naughty  little  boy 
who  doesn't  keep  his  word.  Good-by,  Cyril ;  you  really 
must  go." 

She  still  sat  idly  trailing  her  fingers,  regardless  of 
the  alarm  of  the  fan-tailed  fish. 

"It  must  indeed  be  the  sweetest  thing  in  the  world," 
she  thought,  "if  the  mere  thought  of  it  is  so  entranc 
ing."  She  leaned  over  and  laughed  at  her  own  broken 
image  in  the  pool,  and  then  the  memories  of  her  be- 


DAYLIGHT   LOVE  113 

ginnings  came  back  to  her.  Again  she  wondered  how 
much  they  meant.  A  little  more  somberness,  born  of 
ancestors  who  prowled  the  dark  woodlands,  a  little 
greater  lack  of  conventionality  descended  from  those 
who  wandered  the  prairies  at  will,  a  little  lack  of 
humor  left  from  those  to  whom  the  daily  necessities 
loomed  big — this  was  all  there  was  of  it. 

"I  believe  I  will  give  the  whole  subject  some  fresh 
air.  It's  horribly  hot  and  stuffy  in  here.  A  brisk  can 
ter  will  knock  the  atmosphere  of  love-making  out  of 
me." 

Still  dreamily  she  went  to  her  room,  and  Sophie, 
her  new  little  Swedish  maid,  came  obedient  to  her  bell 
to  twist  the  dark  hair  into  a  tightly  braided  knot,  and 
help  to  encase  her  in  the  close  sheath  of  her  riding 
habit.  Sophie  was  light  of  step  and  neat  of  dress,  and 
her  soft  light  curls  were  piled  in  a  coquettish  puff  upon 
her  shapely  little  head.  Vera  found  herself  thinking 
how  Sophie,  too,  had  departed  from  the  type  of  her 
ancestors,  slow  and  phlegmatic. 

"Sophie,"  she  said,  "you  certainly  do  my  hair  won 
derfully  well,  considering  that  you  must  have  learned 
your  art  since  you  came  over  to  this  country." 

"Oh,  yas,  Miss  Windsar,"  answered  the  girl,  with 
a  little  toss  of  her  head.  "Ay  navar  did  anny  vork  in 
the  or  country." 


114        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE    HARDY 

"You  never  did  any  work?  Tell  me  about  your 
home,  Sophie." 

"Vail,  my  fader  hay  had  big  farm,  and  many  ser 
vants  to  do  all  the  vork,  so  Ay  navar  did  but  little 
sewing." 

"Then  why  did  you  come  away  ?  Don't  you  want  to 
go  back?" 

The  girl  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  said  slowly: 

"Vail,  you  see,  Miss  Windsar,  it  vas  das  way.  Ay 
could  navar  go  even  away  from  the  gate  vithout  Ay 
ask  my  modar.  Ay  navar  haf  anny  money  for  myself. 
Ay  vas  always  little  girl  vithout  Ay  gat  married.  No, 
Miss  Windsar,  Ay  rathar  stay  har  and  vork,  and  van 
my  vork  is  over  Ay  do  vat  Ay  lak.  And  my  broodar 
and  two  sastars  coom  now,  so  Ay  am  nat  lonely.  They 
lak  be  Americans,  too." 

"So  you  call  yourself  American  already?" 

"Ay  hope  so,"  answered  the  girl  cheerfully.  "As 
your  har  right,  Miss  Windsar?" 

"Quite  right,  Sophie.  I'm  glad  you  like  being  an 
American,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy  here." 

"Sure !"  answered  Sophie,  for  though  the  accent  of 
the  United  States  may  be  slow  to  acquire,  its  slang  is 
as  easy  to  get  as  its  citizenship. 

Vera  laughed,  gathered  up  her  long  skirts  and  went 
down  stairs.  "After  all,  her  fate  is  like  mine,"  she 


DAYLIGHT   LOVE  115 

said  to  herself.  "Two  generations  will  see  the  work 
complete.  I  see  it  going  on  all  around  me.  Pole  or 
Italian,  Swiss  or  Swede,  we  are  all  dipped  in  some 
magic  alembic  and  come  out  American.  Our  tradi 
tions  and  our  inheritances  serve  but  as  picturesque 
memories,  which  are  dominated  by  this  newer  and 
more  vital  nature.  Why  should  I  think  myself  any 
more  exceptional  than  Sophie?  My  hair  is  dark  and 
hers  is  yellow.  My  eyes  are  black  and  hers  are  blue. 
The  country  sets  a  new  star  in  her  flag  for  each  new 
state,  and  the  new  one  blends  into  the  same  constella 
tion  as  the  old.  So  she  takes  in  all  races  and  mingles 
them  to  make  her  new  solar  system,  and  our  likeness 
becomes  greater  than  our  differences." 

Here  Miss  Windsor  caught  sight  of  her  horse,  and 
ceased  to  care  about  the  color  of  her  eyes  or  the  num 
ber  of  stars  in  the  flag.  Only  she  rejoiced  in  her 
young  blood  and  the  sunshine. 

Mr.  Kemyss,  meanwhile,  left  the  house  in  an  un 
enviable  state  of  mind.  He  walked  slowly  cityward, 
feeling  every  moment  more  and  more  how  intolerable 
was  his  position.  When  half-way  to  the  office,  he 
turned  and  looked  back  at  the  hill.  He  must  see  Mrs. 
Lyell  at  once — within  the  hour — and  end  this  matter. 
Anything  was  better  than  suspense,  and  if  she  in 
tended  to  ruin  him,  the  sooner  he  knew  it  the  better. 


n6        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

A  little  later,  on  this  same  afternoon,  Frank  Lenox 
found  himself  again  at  the  office  and  deep  in  all  its 
mystic  lore.  All  his  preparations  to  start  the  next 
morning  were  made,  but  he  wanted  a  few  last  instruc 
tions  from  Mr.  Holton,  and  that  gentleman,  having 
gone  over,  in  outline,  his  policy,  was  now  gathering 
the  scattered  papers  on  his  desk,  while  Lenox  glanced 
through  the  note-book  in  which  he  had  gathered  all 
his  new-found  wisdom.  The  young  man  was  a  little 
bored  by  the  redundancy  of  his  superior,  but  he  lin 
gered,  because  he  had  come  down  not  really  so  much 
to  get  information,  as  to  see  Mr.  Windsor,  partly  for 
the  sake  of  the  old  man  himself,  and  partly  because 
Miss  Windsor  did  him  the  honor  to  call  him  father. 

So,  though  Lenox  was  a  little  relieved  to  find  Mr. 
Kemyss  absent,  he  was  not  so  grateful  for  the  Provi 
dence  which  had  suddenly  called  Mr.  Windsor  away 
on  some  unknown  business,  and  so  deprived  him  of  a 
last  encouraging  hand-shake  and  a  God-speed  from  his 
great  cousin.  There  was  a  cheerful  self-confidence, 
a  belief  in  his  own  power,  in  Windsor,  that  commu 
nicated  itself  to  the  younger  men  whom  he  gathered 
about  him,  and  made  it  easy  for  them  to  assure  them 
selves  that  old  Windsor  could  do  anything,  even  to 
bringing  about  the  millennium  by  this  time  next 
month,  if  he  only  put  his  whole  mind  and  strength  to 


DAYLIGHT    LOVE  117 

it.  The  electric  impulse  he  gave  them  pushed  them 
confidently  along  on  their  working  highway  with  a 
speed  which  they  never  thought  of  stopping  to  calcu 
late,  however  hard  they  might  be  going. 

"And  by  the  way,  Mr.  Lenox,"  Mr.  Holton  finished, 
looking  over  his  spectacles,  "it  might  not  be  a  bad  plan 
for  you  to  take  a  bicycle  along  with  you.  A  good 
many  of  our  traveling  men  are  in  the  habit  of  doing 
so.  It  will  often  save  you  a  half-day's  wait  for  a  train 
at  some  out-of-the-way  place,  and — " 

The  door  opened  and  a  somewhat  perturbed  looking 
clerk  appeared. 

"Mr.  Holton,"  he  said,  "Miss  Windsor  has  rung  up 
her  father's  'phone.  She's  somewhere  out  of  town  and 
seems  to  be  in  trouble.  I  didn't  catch  exactly  what. 
Mr.  Windsor  and  Mr.  Kemyss  are  both  away.  Could 
you  come  to  the  telephone,  sir?" 

Holton  started  up,  and  Lenox  followed  anxiously 
to  Mr.  Windsor's  private  office,  to  listen  to  the  dis 
jointed  ends  of  the  colloquy. 

"Miss  Windsor?  Yes — this  is  Mr.  Holton — I'm 
sorry  to  say  your  father  is  out — good  heavens! — 
Yes — No  one  but  women  in  the  house? — How  far 
away  is  he? — On  the  Nushka  Lake  Road,  you  say? — 
Yes,  beyond  the  fountain — I  hope  it  is  not  so  serious 
as  it  looks — Yes,  I'll  get  Doctor  Norris  if  it's  possible 


ii8         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

— We'll  be  there  as  soon  as  horses  can  bring  us — 
Good-by !" 

He  turned  to  Lenox. 

"It's  Miss  Windsor.  Most  unfortunate.  She  was 
out  on  her  horse  alone  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
and  she  ran  across  a  man  very  badly  hurt.  She  thinks 
some  one  must  have  attacked  him.  She  got  hold  of  a 
telephone  in  a  house  not  far  distant,  and  she  wants  a 
carriage  and  a  doctor.  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  go  out. 
I  have  an  important  committee  meeting  at  four-thirty, 
but  Mr.  Windsor  wouldn't  consider  any  business  that 
ever  was  made  in  comparison  with  Miss  Windsor's 
needs.  He's  a  little  daft  about  her." 

He  took  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it  in  evident 
perplexity,  as  he  rang  up  again  and  ordered  a  carriage 
from  the  nearest  stable. 

While  this  one-sided  conversation  was  going  on, 
Lenox  had  been  screwing  his  courage  to  the  sticking 
point,  and  he  now  spoke. 

"May  I  not  go  out  in  your  place,  Mr.  Holton?  I 
have  met  Miss  Windsor,  so  I  shouldn't  be  an  entire 
stranger,  and  my  time  is  not  so  valuable  as  yours, 
though  I  may  be  able  to  serve  her  equally  well." 

"Thank  you,  it  would  be  a  real  favor  if  you  would 
do  so,  Mr.  Lenox," — Mr.  Holton  spoke  with  evident 
relief.  "Now  I'll  just  arrange  matters  with  Doctor 


DAYLIGHT    LOVE  119 

Norris,  and  if  he's  gettable  you  can  stop  for  him  on 
your  way  out.  The  coachman  will  know  the  way. 
The  big  drinking  fountain  on  the  Nushka  drive  is  a 
landmark." 

A  horse  tied  to  a  tree  and  a  group  of  two  or  three 
women  near  the  road-edge  marked  the  goal ;  and  Vera 
stepped  forward  to  meet  the  carriage  as  it  came  to  an 
abrupt  stop,  her  eyes  glowing  with  evident  relief,  and 
her  face  tense  with  anxiety,  but  self-contained  as 
usual. 

She  spoke  no  word  to  Lenox,  though  the  swift 
glance  and  the  extended  left  hand  warmed  him  like 
a  caress,  while  she  gave  her  right  hand  and  her  brief 
explanation  to  the  doctor. 

"I  heard  this  man  moan  in  the  bushes  as  I  was 
riding.  His  throat  is  cut  and  he  can  not  speak,  and 
as  there  were  no  men  in  the  house  near  by  where  I 
went  for  help  we  made  no  attempt  to  move  him.  I'm 
afraid  some  one  has  tried  to  murder  him." 

They  were  moving  together  toward  a  clump  of 
small  trees  that  lay  between  the  gleaming  roadway 
and  one  of  those  innumerable  lakes  that  star  the  up 
lands  of  Minnesota. 

"Murder!  gammon!"  said  the  doctor.  "He's  tried 
to  kill  himself,  and  slit  his  windpipe  by  mistake." 

Lenox  looked  over  the  doctor's  stooping  shoulders 


120         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE  .HARDY 

at  the  inert  form,  lying  with  face  half  turned  toward 
him,  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  dismay. 

"Good  heavens,  it's  Repburn!" 

The  doctor  and  Vera  looked  up  together  in  surprise. 

"You  know  him  ?"  she  said. 

"Yes,  a  little.    He's  a  Winterhaven  boy." 

"And  do  you  know  why  he  should  have  done  this  ?" 
asked  the  doctor. 

"I  don't,  unless  it  was  because  he  lost  his  position, 
and  was  terribly  discouraged." 

He  spoke  with  some  embarrassment. 

"I  saw  him  yesterday,  and  he  told  me  he  was  at  his 
wits'  end.  He — in  fact  he's  had  a  long  run  of  bad 
luck." 

"A  man  deserves  bad  luck  who  doesn't  know  the 
difference  between  his  trachea  and  his  jugular  artery. 
He's  a  blamed  fool !"  growled  the  still  kneeling  doctor, 
whose  hands  were  busy. 

"Here,  Mr.  Lenox,  help  me  to  carry  this  fellow  to 
the  carriage  and  we'll  get  him  into  a  hospital.  It's 
the  business  of  us  unfortunate  doctors  to  force  peo 
ple  to  stay  in  the  world  when  they  don't  want  to,  and 
the  world  hasn't  any  use  for  them." 

"Doctor  Norris,  you're  a  brute !"  said  Miss  Windsor 
vehemently. 

"We're  a  set  of  pretty  benevolent  brutes,  after  all, 


DAYLIGHT    LOVE  121 

my  dear  young  lady,"  the  doctor  answered  with  an 
unruffled  grin,  as  he  bent  his  back  to  the  load. 

"Now  then,  steady.  Here  he  goes.  Lenox,  I'm 
afraid  you'll  have  to  ride  outside  with  the  driver 
to  give  'this  fellow  more  room." 

".Thank  you,  I  think  I  can  strike  a  car  somewhere 
within  walking  distance,  if  Miss  Windsor  will  be 
good  enough  to  direct  me.  If  you  are  going  to  a  hos 
pital,  you  won't  need  me,  and  I  shall  be  more  useful 
off  your  load  than  on  it,  shall  I  not?"  Lenox  answered, 
with  the  ready  excuse  a  man  always  finds  for  doing 
the  thing  he  wills. 

So  the  carriage  rolled  away,  and  the  gathered 
women  returned  to  the  near-by  house,  and  Lenox 
stood  for  an  inestimable  moment  alone  with  Miss 
Windsor. 

The  sky  hung  over  them  bluer  than  it  had  ever 
been  before  in  the  history  of  the  world,  and  the  glory 
of  autumn,  still  too  luxuriant  and  abundant  to  be 
mindful  of  coming  death,  made  the  golden  setting 
that  held  this  gem  of  a  girl. 

He  felt  the  pressure  of  her  foot  in  his  hand  as  he 
helped  her  to  mount ;  he  smoothed  a  friendly  wrinkle 
from  her  habit,  and  still  she  lingered  while  his  hand 
stroked  the  glossy  neck  of  the  mare  that  had  the  privi 
lege  of  carrying  her. 


122         THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

"I  was  so  much  interested  in  that  poor  wretch  that 
I  forgot  to  be  surprised  that  it  should  be  you  who 
came.  How  did  it  happen?"  she  asked. 

"I  was  in  Mr.  Holton's  office,"  he  replied,  "and  as 
he  was  very  busy,  he  was  good  enough  to  let  me  take 
his  place." 

"You  seem  destined  to  come  to  my  rescue  now 
adays." 

"It  is  a  gentle  office." 

"If  you  intend  making  a  business  of  knight- 
errantry,  I  wish  you  would  do  it  with  more  manner. 
I  refuse  to  accept  you  as  my  permanent  champion  un 
less  you  assume  some  pomp  and  circumstance.  I  want 
you  to  arrive  with  prancing  steed,  full  armor,  big 
plumes,  instead  of  wearing  tweeds  and  rushing  up 
with  a  livery-stable  hack." 

"I  apologize  for  my  inadvertence.  Next  time  you 
need  a  special  rescuer,  if  you  will  kindly  give  me  a 
few  hours'  warning,  I'll  astonish  you  by  my  get-up. 
Meanwhile,"  he  ventured  with  an  air  of  seriousness, 
"will  you  kindly  advance  your  sleeve  as  a  token  which 
your  true  knight  may  wear  ?" 

"Thank  you,  I  decline  to1  cut  off  my  sleeve  until  I 
get  home.  St.  Etienne's  population  might  not  under 
stand." 

"Then  perhaps  your  glove  will  do  as  well." 


DAYLIGHT   LOVE  123 

"Here  it  is,"  she  said.  "Let  it  be  on  your  helm- 
not  a  soft  hat,  mind — when  I  next  summon  you.  Mr. 
Lenox,  how  silly  you  are!  It  must  be  your  fault 
that  I  am  so  frivolous." 

"Then  you  owe  me  most  profound  gratitude,"  he 
replied.  "One  can  hardly  have  too  much  caper  sauce 
to  life." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"I  have  no  doubts  on  that  score.  Surely  you  like 
to  be  frivolous!" 

"I  like  it,"  she  admitted,  "but  my  mentor  tells  me 
that  is  because  I  am  an  unregenerated  young  per 
son." 

"She  is  an  unhealthy  adviser  then.  Only  when 
you're  unmitigatedly  light-hearted  may  you  be  as 
sured  that  your  body  and  soul  are  perfectly  well." 

She  looked  at  him  fixedly  for  an  instant,  without 
answering,  but  a  quick  movement  made  him  afraid 
that  she  was  about  to  start,  and  he  hastily  anticipated 
that  catastrophe. 

"Miss  Windsor,  to-morrow  I  am  to  go  away  for  a 
month's  trip.  May  I  call  this  evening  to  bid  you  good- 
by  and  to  assure  myself  that  you  are  not  wholly  done 
up  by  to-day's  adventure?"  He  looked  at  her  eagerly. 

"I  can  reassure  you  on  that  point  at  once.  I'm  quite 
myself  already." 


124         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

"Which  is  the  best  thing  it  is  possible  to  be,"  he 
said. 

She  flushed  slightly,  but  went  on. 

"And  I  am  going  to  be  well  enough  to  keep  a  dinner 
engagement,  and  therefore  not  to  be  at  home  this 
evening." 

The  color  came  a  little  more  to  her  face  as  she  saw 
his  look  of  disappointment,  and  she  added  gently : 

"Let  me  show  you  the  way  to  your  car  line.  If  you 
aren't  too  proud  to  walk  at  my  side,  I'll  keep  my  horse 
back,  and  we  can  have  our  farewell  call  here  and 
now." 

"With  all  my  heart." 

"Tell  me  about  this  man,  Repburn.  Was  it — was 
it  my  father  from  whose  employ  he  was  discharged  ?" 

"Yes." 

"I  thought  so  from  your  embarrassment." 

She  fingered  the  end  of  her  tiny  whip  nervously  and 
her  face  clouded. 

"Doesn't  it  seem  cruel  that  one  human  being  should 
have  the  power  to  make  the  life  of  another  intoler 
able?"  she  said. 

Lenox's  hand  involuntarily  traveled  toward  the 
neck  of  the  mare,  and  her  troubled  eyes  met  his. 

"It's  pitiful,  perhaps,  but  you  mustn't  blame  your 
father,  because  the  man  was  utterly  incompetent,  and 


DAYLIGHT    LOVE  125 

besides  that  too  much  of  a  coward  to  conquer  his  own 
fate/' 

"Oh,  it  isn't  so  easy  as  all  that,  to  dismiss  the  ine 
qualities  of  life.  It  makes  me  feel  wicked  to  be  look 
ing  hopefully  forward,  when  here  right  beside  me 
is  a  man  who  is  wretched  enough  to  choose  death. 
Imagine  what  that  means !" 

She  shivered. 

"Well,  even  suicide  may  have  its  humorous  aspect, 
especially  where,  as  in  Repburn's  case,  it  fails  to  con- 
nectf  Will  you  allow  me,  Miss  Windsor,  to  justify 
your  father  in  your  eyes?  I  should  like  you  hear  the 
tragedy  of  Henry  Repburn's  bad  luck,  as  I  learned  it 
from  his  own  eloquent  tongue  last  evening." 

He  watched  the  care-worn  expression  slip  from  her 
face  and  the  dimple  appear  and  disappear  as  his  story 
went  on. 

"Isn't  it  a  pity,"  he  said,  "that  there  was  no  pho 
tographer  at  hand  to  catch  your  father's  face  when 
Mr.  Kemyss  told  him  of  the  Rugg  episode?  I  think  it 
must  have  been  at  the  tail  end  of  the  hearing  that  I 
saw  Mr.  Windsor's  back.  Even  that  was  expressive. 
Of  course  I  didn't  know  him  then,  but  it  gave  me  the 
shivers." 

"And  do  you  think  you  do  know  him  now  ?" 

"I  am  sure  of  one  thing,  Miss  Windsor,  and  that 


126        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

is  that  it  was  worth  my  while  to  come  to  St.  Etienne 
just  to  know  him  as  well  as  I  do.  I  had  read  of  such 
men  and  dreamed  of  them,  but  I  never  had  a  chance 
to  meet  one.  I'm  glad  to  have  seen  him  while  I'm 
young  enough  to  have  it  influence  me." 

Her  eyes  kindled  a  little  and  she  said : 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  me  why  you  feel  that  way." 

"It's  pretty  difficult  to  explain.  But  he  makes  me 
feel  that  life  is  made  hard  on  purpose  to  strengthen 
the  arm  that  conquers  it." 

"Yes,  that  is  dad,"  she  said. 

"I  want  to  feel  the  same  way,  before  I  begin,  and 
all  the  way  through,"  he  said ;  "and  your  father  is  a 
convincing  argument." 

"I'm  glad  you  see  into  him.  There  are  so  many 
people  who  don't.  Sometimes  it  hurts  me." 

She  glowed  and  made  the  young  man  looking  up  at 
her  glow  too. 

"What  are  you  to  do?  I  infer  that  you  are  to  work 
for  dad,"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  and  he  flushed  a  little.  "Perhaps  you  won't 
be  so  ready  to  have  me  wearing  your  glove  as  I  enter 
the  lists,  when  you  know  of  my  commonplace  doom. 
Your  father  is  going  to  make  a  drummer  of  me,  you 
see." 

"Not  really." 


DAYLIGHT   LOVE  127 

"Yes,  he's  going  to  send  me  out  into  the  country  to 
morrow  to  get  trade." 

"You're  certainly  not  the  type  that  one  reads  about 
in  the  funny  papers,"  she  said  dubiously.  "I  can't 
imagine  you  making  fat  jokes.  Please  don't." 

"No  doubt,  by  the  time  I  come  back,  I  shall  be  an 
excellent  representative.  But  perhaps  the  newspaper 
drummer  isn't  any  truer  than  the  newspaper  Uncle 
Sam." 

"And  I  should  think  drumming — if  that's  what  you 
call  it — would  be  very  hard  work." 

"Come,  after  what  we've  just  said,  you  don't  con 
sider  that  a  drawback,  do  you  ?  Your  true  American 
likes  things  all  the  better  because  they're  hard.  Did 
you  ever  notice  that  even  the  children  coasting  in  win 
ter  despise  a  perfectly  smooth  hill  to  slide  down? 
They  elaborately  build  bumps  out  of  snow,  in  order 
to  give  themselves  the  pleasure  of  some  rough  hand 
ling.  I  shouldn't  want  your  father  to  think  me  in 
capable  of  anything  but  the  easiest  work,  so  you  can't 
frighten  me  that  way.  There  are  only  two  things  I'm 
afraid  of." 

"And  what  are  they  ?"   She  looked  at  him  closely. 

"One  is  that  you  are  so  analytic  that  you  will  pick 
me  all  to  pieces.  I  don't  want  to  be  murdered  and  dis 
sected  in  your  opinion." 


128         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

"Well,  then,  I'll  promise  to  think  about  you  as  a 
whole.  What's  the  other  thing?" 

'The  other  is  the  stars  out  here.  When  I'm  out 
alone  at  night,  I'm  afraid  that  something  has  gone 
wrong  in  the  celestial  region,  they're  so  big." 

"They  are  big  here.  I  am  always  astonished  afresh 
every  time  I  go  away  and  come  back.  That  oughtn't 
to  frighten  you.  Wherever  the  atmosphere — mental 
or  material — is  as  clear  as  it  is  in  St.  Etienne  and 
you,  Mr.  Lenox,  the  stars  loom  large.  Insight  and 
outsight  are  clear,  you  know." 

He  looked  a  little  silly,  and  seeing  that  he  liked  a 
bit  of  flattery  as  well  as  the  next  man,  a  ripple  of 
amusement  passed  through  her. 

"Now  here  is  your  car  line,  and  I  must  say  good- 
by.  I  hope  your  trip  will  be  both  pleasant  and  suc 
cessful.  When  you  come  back  you  must  tell  me  all 
about  it,  and  I  shall  have  a  laurel  wreath  ready  to 
crown  my  own  knightly  drummer  victorious  over  all 
other  drummers.  Really,  Mr.  Lenox,  I  shan't  dare  to 
say  such  pleasant  things  to  you  when  you  do  come 
back.  You  don't  know  how  idiotic  it  makes  you  look." 
She  laughed  exultantly  at  his  confusion. 

"And  please  don't  forget  that  you  are  to  have  your 
first  dance  in  St.  Etienne  with  me!" 

She  leaned  down  and  gave  him  her  hand,  nodded 


DAYLIGHT    LOVE  129 

with  friendly  emphasis,  and  was  gone.  He  watched 
with  lifted  hat  as  she  appeared  and  disappeared  and 
flashed  out  again  through  the  trees  that  edged  the 
lake-shore  drive,  but  she  did  not  look  back. 

"She's  just  that  mixture  of  tease  and  angel  that 
keeps  a  man  stirred  up  and  contented  at  the  same 
time,"  he  said  to  himself. 

But  though  her  eyes  did  not  turn,  her  thoughts  did. 

"What  a  different  type  from  Cyril!"  she  said  to 
herself.  "I  wonder  which  I  like  best.  This  man  is 
fresh  and  sane  and  healthy.  I  wonder  if  it  is  possible 
to  be  healthy  and  think  about  health  at  the  same  time. 
Perhaps  Jean  is  wrong.  At  any  rate  she  seems  to  keep 
me  turned  inside  out,  and  examining  my  internal 
mechanism;  and,  after  all,  that  isn't  the  natural  way 
of  wearing  one's  mental  anatomy." 

In  the  evening,  Lenox  found  his  way  to  Doctor 
Norris  to  commission  him,  a  little  awkwardly,  with 
a  missive  for  Repburn.  The  physician  looked  quiz 
zically  at  the  fat  envelope. 

"Is  the  fellow  a  friend  of  yours?"  he  asked,  rather 
abruptly. 

"Not  exactly  that,"  Lenox  laughed.  "But  he  needs 
at  least  the  semblance  of  friendship.  I  don't  want  him 
to  get  well  only  to  return  to  the  same  hopeless  mood. 
He's  had  a  long  run  of  ill-luck,  and  he's  destitute." 


130        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

"Young  man,  if  'fail'  is  to  be  left  out  of  the  bright 
lexicon  of  youth,  you'll  have  to  leave  out  'luck'  too." 

"Well,  make  the  dictionary  to  suit  yourself,  but  give 
him  my  letter." 

"I  hope  it  isn't  much,"  said  the  doctor  grimly. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid.  'Much'  would  be  an  im 
possibility  to  me,"  said  the  young  man,  smiling. 


CHAPTER  IX 

LOVE  LAUGHS 

After  leaving  Miss  Windsor,  Mr.  Kemyss  hurried 
down  the  hill,  then  half-way  back  again,  a  second  time 
down,  and  again  up  in  haste,  at  the  dictation  now  of 
cowardice,  now  of  resolve.  At  last  resolution  had  its 
way. 

He  found  Mrs.  Lyell  sitting  alone  with  a  volume 
of  Keats  lying  open  in  her  lap. 

"Cyril !"  she  said,  putting  out  her  hand  without  ris 
ing.  "How  delicious  of  you  to  come  at  this  time  of  day, 
and  how  unexpected !"  He  took  her  hand,  held  it  apa 
thetically,  then  stooped  and  kissed  it,  because  he  knew 
she  would  expect  it,  and  he  always  lived  up  to  the 
standard  of  what  other  people  expected  of  him. 

"I  had  to  come.    I  couldn't  stay  away,"  he  said. 

"Come  and  sit  down  then,"  she  said.  "Take  this 
big  chair  by  the  fire.  I  am  just  in  the  mood  to  be  very 
comfortable,  and  I  hope  you  are.  I  have  been  longing 
for  you.  Did  you  know  it,  that  you  came?" 

"Comfortable!"  he  thought. 


I32         THE    PRIZE   TO    THE    HARDY 

"Silence  is  the  symbol  of  harmony,"  she  said  to  her 
self.  But  it  may  last  too  long.  She  looked  up  with  a 

start. 

"Why  are  you  so  ill  at  ease,  Cyril?     You  are  in 

distress.    Tell  me." 

She  leaned  forward  eagerly,  and  then  drew  back, 
annoyed  at  the  interruption  as  the  maid  brought  her  a 
letter. 

"It's— it's  a  note  from  Ned,"  she  said  faintly;  "I 
won't  look  at  it.  I  won't  think  of  it  now.  Cyril,  do 
sit  over  here ;  one  can't  be  confidential  at  long  range." 

But  he  did  not  move. 

"Tell  me  what  is  the  matter." 

"That  is  the  matter,"  he  said,  pointing  at  the  letter 
which  she  still  held.  "I  am  in  torture.  I've  been  in 
torture  ever  since  I  left  you  last  night." 

"About   Ned?" 

"About  you  and  your  husband.  After  all,  he  is  your 
husband." 

"Only  in  a  limited  sense,  as  you  told  me  last  even 
ing,"  she  said  with  abominable  cheerfulness. 

"I  know  it.  I  was  crazy.  I  could  not  remember 
anything  in  the  world  except  you  and  my  love  for  you. 
Nothing  else  seemed  real." 

"Is  anything  else  real?"  She  leaned  forward  once 
more  and  sat  looking  at  him  fixedly. 


LOVE    LAUGHS  133 

"Yes,  Jean.  For  you  and  me,  duty  is  more  impera 
tive  than  happiness." 

"But  you  told  me — " 

"Never  mind  what  I  told  you.  I  tell  you  I  had  lost 
my  reason.  Since  then  I  have  done  nothing  but  think. 
It  isn't  easy  to  say  this,  and  I  would  to  God  I  didn't 
have  to,  but  we  have  got  to  face  conditions  as  they 
are;  and  the  fact  is  you  are  the  wife  of  another  man, 
and  I  beg  your  pardon  for  speaking  to  you  as  I  did 
last  night." 

She  grew  very  pale  and  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if 
gathering  her  strength. 

"Cyril,  these  are  only  the  words  of  other  people  that 
you  are  speaking.  Then,  you  spoke  spontaneously, 
your  own  emotions.  What  is  my  marriage  to  such  as 
us  ?  You  and  I  have  reached  a  point  where  the  things 
that  are  mere  words,  without  any  reality  behind  them, 
are  hardly  worth  considering.  We  want  only  that 
which  is  vital.  As  I  am  not  married  in  spirit,  I  do  not 
care  a  straw  for  the  marriage  bond  of  form.  I  do  not 
care  what  the  world  calls  it.  You  see  I  speak  frankly, 
because  last  night  you  broke  down  all  the  barriers 
between  us.  Now  that  we  both  understand  things,  let 
us  both  lay  reserve  aside." 

"I  mean  to,"  he  answered  desperately.  "You  don't 
understand  at  all  yet,  Jean.  It  is  true,  what  I  told  you 


134         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE   HARDY 

last  night,  that  I  love  you,  but  the  things  we  both  for 
got  are  true  also.  I  wish  I  had  not  spoken.  It  would 
have  been  better  for  me  to  have  suffered  alone  and  left 
you  in  ignorance.  As  it  is,  love  can  bring  nothing  but 
suffering  to  both  of  us." 

"Is  this  what  you  came  to  say?" 

"Look  what  would  happen  if  even  a  whisper  of  our 
relations  got  abroad.  Mr.  Windsor  wouldn't  have  me 
in  his  employ  for  a  moment,  and  the  mere  question  of 
bread  and  butter  would  not  be  an  easy  one.  We 
should  be  outcasts." 

"And  what  of  that?"  She  did  not  look  at  him,  but 
her  eyes  glowed  with  some  heroic  vision.  He  grew  des 
perate. 

"Well,  to  be  an  outcast,  as  I  tell  you,  means  more 
than  obloquy,  though  heaven  knows  that  is  unendur 
able.  It  means  starvation.  I  have  an  idea  that  love 
and  hunger  are  in  inverse  ratio,  as  even  you  would 
find.  I  will  not  subject  you  to  this." 

"You  do  not  force  me  to  it.  I  freely  choose  it — for 
your  sake."  Her  face  was  still  radiant.  "This  is  your 
answer,  Cyril." 

He  burst  out:  "Then  you  compel  me  to  say  that 
you  shall  not  subject  me  to  obloquy.  See  here,  I  don't 
want  to  be  brutal,  Jean,  but  I  have  had  a  hard  time  be 
ginning  life,  and  now  at  last  I  have  a  good  business 


LOVE    LAUGHS  135 

opportunity  and  a  social  position.  I  can't  afford  to 
throw  them  away  for  an  impulse.  Even  if  you  don't 
care  for  such  things  yourself,  if  you  love  me,  you  will 
consider  me." 

She  looked  at  him  at  last,  with  big  startled  eyes. 

"We  must  steer  our  course  in  such  a  way  that  our 
love  shall  not  violate  public  proprieties,"  he  went  on. 

"What  is  it  that  you  do  want  ?  You  have  been  beat 
ing  about  the  bush,  Cyril.  Speak  plainly." 

"I  love  you,  you  know,"  he  spoke  awkwardly.  "Let 
me  come  here  as  your  friend,  if  you  will.  Let  no  one. 
but  ourselves  dream  that  there  is  between  us  anything 
sweeter." 

"Sweeter !"  she  said,  and  there  was  a  tone  of  rising 
scorn  in  her  voice.  "And  I  am  to  remain  a  wife!  I 
suppose  you  may  with  equal  propriety  become  a  hus 
band?" 

"Perhaps;  why  not?"  It  was  a  relief  to  have  her 
take  it  so  quietly. 

"And  our  love  is  to  become  an  intrigue?"  she  went 
on. 

"You  need  never  call  love  by  such  a  name." 

"Cyril  Kemyss,"  she  said,  leaning  forward,  her  eyes 
burning  with  excitement,  "I  could  throw  everything 
to  the  winds.  I  could  suffer  starvation  and  cold;  I 
could  suffer  excommunication  and  glory  in  it,  if  I  had 


136         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

love,  such  love  as  you  have  made  me  dream  of — a 
passion  that  should  satisfy  my  soul,  no  matter  what 
miseries  my  body  suffered.  Such  love  might  not  be 
what  the  world  calls  honorable,  but  it  would  at  least 
be  honest.  But  one  thing  I  will  not  do.  I  will  not 
pretend  to  be  Ned's  wife,  and  be  in  thought,  if  not  in 
-deed,  your  mistress.  I  will  not  belong  to  one  in  pub 
lic,  and  to  the  other  in  secret." 

There  was  a  tense  silence  for  a  moment,  and  she 
added :  "I  care  little  for  the  world's  estimate  of  me ; 
but  I  care  much  for  my  own  sense  of  integrity." 

"Very  well,  then,"  he  said  stiffly ;  "since  you  put  the 
alternative  before  me,  I,  on  my  part,  will  not  risk 
scandal,  or  even  gossip.  My  reputation  means  a  good 
deal  to  me,  and  yours  ought  to  to  you.  Pleasure  is 
only  for  a  day.  One's  good  name  is  valuable  for  a 
lifetime." 

"And  you  call  love  tHe  pleasure  of  a  day?" 

"Well,  it  belongs  to  youth  and  hot  blood.  You 
can't  expect  passion  to  last  when  they  are  gone." 

"Then  I  want  no  love  of  yours,  Cyril  Kemyss. 
That  is  not  my  kind."  He  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"What  an  escape  I  have  had  from  a  thing  like  you !" 
she  went  on,  in  spite  of  her  evident  emotion  speaking 
calmly  and  firmly.  "Last  night  I  thanked  you  for 
opening  my  eyes.  Now  I  have  to  thank  you  for  open- 


LOVE   LAUGHS  137 

ing  them  still  wider.  One  may  learn  something  from 
everything  that  crawls.  Last  night  you  called  my 
husband  a  coward.  Perhaps  he  is.  But  you  are  botli 
a  coward  and  a  sneak." 

She  had  risen  now",  and  she  made  a  swift  motion 
with  her  foot  as  though  pushing  something  on  the 
floor.  He  took  a  step  toward  her  when  she  called  him 
a  coward,  but  changed  his  mind. 

"You  will  understand  me  better  sometime,"  he  said 
in  his  even  tone.  "You  will  learn  that,  of  us  two,  I 
am  the  braver2  because  I  have  the  heroism  to  hold  my 
self  to  the  right." 

"Oh,  I  read  you  now  through  and  through.  You 
worshiper  of  the  god  'Reputation',  go !" 

"Most  people  would  think  you  and  I  had  no  busi 
ness  to  be  talking  about  gods,  after  our  ungodly  self- 
revelation,"  he  said  sneeringly.  Her  eyes  dilated. 

"No,"  she  said;  "because  most  people  worship  this 
same  god  of  yours,  Convention,  Reputation,  whatever 
you  call  it,  and  they  think  his  name  too  awful  to  be 
taken  in  vain  by  infidels  who  would  live  according 
to  light  and  not  according  to  rule.  Your  god,  too, 
poor  Cyril !  Your  god,  too.  I  can  see  you  now.  Last 
night's  vision  was  a  dream  of  a  hashish  den." 

He  rose  abruptly,  scorning  his  own  miserable  pose, 
and  yet  immensely  relieved  to  have  this  over.  He  had 


138        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

half  feared  that  he  might  turn  traitor  to  his  resolve 
when  he  met  her  face  to  face.  He  congratulated  him 
self  on  his  own  heroism,  and  half  believed  that  he  was 
actually  sacrificing  himself  to  duty. 

"Good-by,  Eugenia,"  he  said.  "You  have  yet  to 
learn  the  first  lesson  of  love.  Your  love  is  utterly 
selfish." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  she  answered.  "I  haven't  any 
love.  Go!" 

Left  alone,  Mrs.  Lyell  subsided  into  her  chair  and 
stared  at  the  crumbling  logs  of  the  fire.  Poor  Keats 
lay  with  his  crumpled  leaves  face  downward  on  the 
floor,  like  the  dreamer  that  he  was.  At  first  she  shook 
with  confused  feelings,  all  of  them  numb,  but  at  last 
thought  began  to  take  on  coherence. 

"Only  one  day.  Only  one  day,  I  lived,  and  I  am 
never  to  live  again.  To  think  that  the  craving  for 
love  was  so  strong  in  me,  that  at  the  first  touch,  even 
of  such  a  one  as  he,  it  kindled  to  a  flame.  And  I  never 
knew  it.  How  could  so  vital  a  thing  lie  there  un- 
guessed  ?  To-day  he  seemed  a  different  creature.  The 
sunlight  was  pitiless  on  him.  He  needed  midnight 
and  roses  and  dim  lamps  to  seem  real.  I  could  read 
his  littleness  so  plainly.  And  yet  here  in  me  is  that 
dreadful  monster  to  which  he  has  given  birth.  Here 
after,  all  my  life,  I  am  to  be  hungry  for  such  love  as 


LOVE   LAUGHS  139 

I  thought  he  could  give  me,  and  I  am  never  to  have 
it.  Always  hungry!" 

Absent-mindedly  she  tore  open  the  envelope  that  lay 
crushed  in  her  hand.  Her  husband  always  sent  her 
these  daily  bulletins  when  he  was  away  on  his  trips, 
and  half  the  time  she  did  not  trouble  to  read  them 
through.  They  were  as  commonplace  as  their  writer. 
She  stared  now  at  the  lines  that  told  of  his  where 
abouts  with  a  strange  sense  of  the  unreality  of  all  ex 
perience.  This  thing  and  that  thing  and  the  other 
thing  happen  to  us,  and  they  are  all  meaningless. 
People  touch  the  outer  rim  of  life,  but  I  remain  alone, 
and  solitude  is  the  most  dreadful  of  fates. 

Suddenly  the  humiliation  of  being  the  plaything  of 
such  a  man  as  Kemyss  swept  over  her,  and  she  bowed 
her  head  and  moaned  in  impotent  fury,  while  through 
her  there  raged  such  storms  as  had  never  before 
troubled  her  serene  self-satisfaction. 


CHAPTER  X 

A  FRIEND 

October  was  still  in  its  prime,  warm  and  hazy  with 
morning,  when  Lenox  boarded  the  train  bound  for  the 
Northwest,  and  walked  through  car  after  car  of  fusty, 
ill-smelling  people  who  bore  every  evidence  of  having 
spent  thej  night  in  close  quarters  and  positions  of  dis 
comfort.  He  pushed  past  the  two  frowzy  young 
women  occupying  two  seats  apiece,  past  the  heaped 
peanut  shells  and  orange  peelings  of  a  family  group, 
and  found  at  last  what  he  looked  for — a  seat  on  the 
left  side,  simply  that,  as  the  train  steamed  out  of  the 
station,  he  might  catch,  between  the  freight  cars,  ele 
vators  and  warehouses  that  lined  its  unlovely  way,  a 
glimpse  of  the  hillside  far  beyond,  and  of  the  big  gray 
stone  house  that  had-  the  honor  to  shelter  her.  He 
grinned  sardonically,  with  full  appreciation  of  his  own 
folly  as  he  craned  his  head  to  see  it.  Just  a  gray 
streak — and  it  was  gone  again.  He  straightened  him 
self  back  in  his  chair. 

With  a  mixture  of  delight  and  astonishment  that 
140 


A   FRIENQ  141 

so  wonderful  a  thing  could  have  taken  possession  of 
him  so  suddenly,  he  kept  repeating  it  to  himself  over 
and  over,  "I  love  her !  I  love  her !" 

"I  used  to  think  Shakespeare  rather  overdid  the 
business  in  the  Romeo  and  Juliet  affair,  but  I  dare  say 
there  was  the  same  variety  of  lunatics  loose  in  the 
streets  of  Verona  that  is  riding  around  in  dirty  plush 
seats  in  the  Northwest  to-day.  Wise  or  unwise,  I 
don't  mean  to  give  it  up.  It's  the  biggest  possession 
I've  ever  had.  Vera, — Vera, — Vera, — ,"  he  repeated 
the  name  in  the  luxury  of  his  private  thoughts.  Then 
he  thrust  his  hands  deep  into  the  recesses  of  his  trous 
ers  pockets,  because  a  man  must  have  some  outlet  for 
nervous  energy. 

"By  the  spirit  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  and  as  I  am 
a  westerner,  I  will  not  begin  by  confessing  myself 
beaten  by  any  private  secretary  that  walks.  Til.  do 
that  business,  and  I'll  do  it  well,  and  I'll  do  it  in  five 
weeks  if  I  have  to  haul  the  farmers  out  of  bed  and 
wrork  them  night  as  well  as  day."  He  spoke  almost 
aloud.  A  sudden  sense  of  exultant  power  ran  down 
his  spine.  He  felt  like  a  war-horse  going  out  to  bat 
tle.  It  should  be  a  battle  for  love,  for  success,  for  all 
that  makes  young  life.  The  world  became  pictur 
esque  and  vivid  with  interest. 

A  solitary  railroad  ride,  when  it  lives  up  to  its  ideal, 


142         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

is  a  resting  spot  in  our  world  of  rush.  Shut  off  from 
duties  past  and  duties  to  come,  with  no  responsibilities 
knocking  at  the  gateway  of  the  brain,  it  is  easy  to  fall 
into  the  serene  and  blessed  mood  when  one  loafs  and 
invites  the  soul.  The  world,  from  the  flying  window, 
is  indeed  a  fleeting  show.  One  has  time  to  think 
things  over,  to  readjust  the  relations,  put  the  few  im 
portant  affairs  of  life  into  a  pile  by  themselves,  and 
consign  the  unimportant  majority  to  the  ash-heap 
which  is  their  eternal  doom. 

But  Lenox's  temper,  just  now,  was  not  of  this  self- 
indulgent  kind.  The  tingling  of  his  energies  forbade 
su,ch  delicious  obliviousness  of  time  and  space.  His 
senses  kindled  to  keener  activity ;  and  he  turned  from 
his  introspection  to  nature  with  a  delicious  freshness 
of  appreciation. 

The  train  was  winding  up  the  river,  and  the  land 
scape  unfolded  itself  in  a  long  pennant  before  him, 
captivating,  not  as  hill  country  captivates,  with 
none  of  the  snap  and  tang  of  New  England,  but  with 
a  gently  rolling  richness  of  its  own.  The  Father  of 
Waters,  blue  as  the  boasted  Mediterranean,  possesses 
here  a  certain  dignity  which  he  loses  when  he  gets 
down  among  the  poor  whites  and  colored  populations 
of  the  South.  The  one  lovely  thing  that  perpetuates 
the  memory  of  the  red  man — Indian  summer,  painted 


A   FRIEND  143 

as  no  impressionist  ever  dared,  a  whirling  vision  of 
color — the  pale  yellow  of  poplars,  the  dull  red-orange 
of  oaks,  the  flame  of  the  scarlet  sumach,  with  gleams 
of  particolored  birch  and  maple  and  beech,  piled  in 
careless  and  impossible  harmony.  Like  an  accent, 
man's  handiwork  helped  nature's.  The  rich  brown  of 
freshly  plowed  land  on  the  hillsides^  the  yellow  stubble 
and  green  pasture,  the  stocked  corn  where  golden  can 
non  balls  of  pumpkins  glowed  in  consciousness  of 
their  own  mellowness,  interrupted  the  woodland. 

Here  was  the  open  meadow,  with  its  racing  shadows 
and  lights.  Goldenrod,  windswept  and  nodding,  al 
ready  turned  to  a  pale  shadow  of  itself,  perhaps  in 
envy  of  the  coreopsis,  whose  splendor  it  had  never  ri 
valed.  An  errant  Scotch  thistle  shook  his  purple  bon 
net  and  spiky  coat  of  mail,  and  the  wild  grasses  reared 
strong  and  high  their  dainty  heads,  that  one  of  these 
days  they  might  raise  their  seeds  above  the  winter's 
snows,  and  provide  a  repast  for  the  wandering  snow 
birds  and  hungry  cotton-tails.  Down  close  to  the 
ground  lay  the  seed-vessels  of  wild  buckwheat,  a  store 
for  the  tiny  mouse  who  would  have  his  private  tunnels 
under  the  snow,  two  feet  below  the  prowling  fox  who 
would  be  on  the  lookout  for  such  small  gentry. 

Lenox  looked  out  and  glowed  with  the  beauty  of  it, 
with  his  youth  and  his  new-found  purpose.  "This  is 


144         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

my  home  now!"  he  said  to  himself.  He  turned  back 
to  his  fellow  men.  The  day  was  growing1  warm ;  and, 
after  the  well  known  principle  of  physics,  the  people 
around  him  seemed  to  expand  under  the  influence 
of  heat,  until  they  quite  filled  the  car.  One  of  the 
frowzy  girls  had  revived  and  was  audibly  chewing- 
gum.  A  baby  at  the  other  end  was  low  in  his  mind 
and  high  in  his  register.  Across  the  aisle  a  fat  red 
man  with  a  stubbly  scarlet  beard  had  taken  off  his  col 
lar  for  comfort  in  his  altercation  with  a  thin  neck- 
tieless  seatmate. 

"Awh,  don't  give  us  any  more  of  your  western 
lies !"  said  the  tieless  one. 

"Lies !  Them  ain't  lies.  I  tell  you  the  biggest  yarns 
you  can  tell  out  here  ain't  lies.  They're  only  prophe 
cies.  You  believe  in  the  spirit  of  prophecy,  don't 
you  ?" 

"All  men  are  not  equal,"  said  Lenox  to  himself.  "It 
would  take  a  gallon  of  eau  de  Cologne  to  make  some 
of  us  equal." 

Preferring  the  landscape  of  his  new  domicile  to  his 
neighbors,  he  stared  out  of  the  window  again  and 
saw,  around  a  curve,  the  engine  of  his  own  train,  a 
big  powerful  locomotive  seemingly  conscious  of  its 
own  strength  and  the  ease  with  which  it  whisked  the 
fast  mail  away  northwestward.  Parallel  with  the  rail- 


A    FRIEND  145 

way  ran  a  wagon  road,  along  which  painfully  toiled  a 
threshing  engine,  pulling  its  "separator"  and  water- 
tank.  It  lay  far  below  the  grade  of  the  railroad,  a 
puny  thing  compared  with  the  great,  rushing,  iron 
horse ;  but  it  was  a  well-bred  engine,  and  evidently  un 
derstood  the  courtesies  of  the  road,  for,  with  a  tiny  jet 
of  steam  from  its  whistle,  its  thin  voice  piped  out  a 
greeting,  "Clear  track  to  you,  brother !"  To  which  the 
great  locomotive  responded  with  a  mighty  shriek, 
"Smooth  be  thy  way,  little  one!"  And  the  sun  shone 
brighter,  hearing  the  cheerful  greeting  between  those 
of  high  and  low  estate.  Lenox,  on  the  dirty  plush  seat, 
felt  a  surging  sense  of  the  democracy  which  was  his 
heritage. 

"Coin'   far?"     The  red  man  across  the  aisle  was 
leaning  toward  him. 

'To  Dakota,"  Frank  answered  pleasantly. 
"Stranger  in  these  parts?"  asked  the  friendly  soul. 
"New-comer,"  corrected  Frank. 
"That's  better.     Shows  you  mean  to  stay.    And  we 
all  want  you.    Help  out  the  next  census.    Now  let  me 
give  you  a  pointer.    Don't  you  smoke  bad  cigars,  nor 
ruin  your  constitution  with  poor  whisky;  but  learn 
Swede  and  vote  the  Republican  ticket,  and  in  time 
we'll  be  proud  of  you,  my  son." 
Frank  made  no  answer. 


146         THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

"Say,  all  a  man  wants  to  succeed  out  here  is  horse 
sense.  Horse  sense.  You  want  to  adapt  yourself  to 
circumstances.  Look  at  me!" 

He  spoke  very  loud,  evidently  desiring  the  attention 
of  the  whole  car.  "I  came  out  here,  just  six  years  ago, 
sir,  without  a  penny,  and  now  I've  got  a  tidy  bank  ac 
count  and  own  my  own  house." 

Frank  restrained  a  lawless  impulse  to  ask  him 
whether  the  house  contained  a  bath-room.  After  all, 
a  snub  was  not  the  fitting  answer  to  effervescent 
friendliness. 

"I  have  got  the  goods  to  suit  every  complexion.  I 
go  on  the  road  with  two  or  three  things,  and  every  one 
of  them  a  seller.  Look  at  these  Bibles,  now,  illustrated 
with  nigger  angels.  I  tell  you,  sir,  every  coon  in  the 
Northwest  is  a  customer.  No  discount.  That's  only 
one  of  my  winners.  Now,  lemme  show  you— 

The  train  slowed  up  at  a  station,  and  a  loosely  built 
man  with  the  appearance  of  a  gentleman  came  down 
the  aisle,  evidently  looking  for  the  least  objectionable 
spot  to  sit  in.  He  chose  the  other  half  of  Lenox's 
seat,  produced  a  magazine,  and  shut  off  the  collarless 
overtures  from  across  the  way. 

There  was  an  hour's  silence ;  then  his  neighbor  laid 
an  open  page  on  Frank's  knee. 

"Interesting  article,  that,"  he  said  quietly. 


A    FRIEND  147 

"Thank  you ;  the  country  is  new  to  me,  and  I  don't 
care  about  reading  while  I  can  see  a  bit  of  it." 

"Like  to  catch  men  in  the  act  of  westward  hoeing?" 
The  stranger  nodded  gravely  at  a  passing  glimpse  of 
a  farmer  putting  his  strawberry  bed  to  bed  for  the 
coming  winter. 

Frank  laughed  and  turned  to  survey  the  other's  face, 
an  attractive  and  wholesome  face,  but  with  the  self- 
depreciatory  look  of  a  man  who  had  been  hit  by  the 
world,  and  never  quite  recovered  from  the  blow. 

"The  river  is  certainly  worth  looking  at.  Though  it 
isn't  so  big  as  it  is  in  the  South,  it  is  more  picturesque. 
It  gets  brown  instead  of  blue  lower  down." 

"Why  is  that?"  asked  the  tenderfoot. 

"I  don't  know,  unless  it's  the  corrupting  influence 
of  the  muddy  Missouri,  which  is  enough  after  they 
come  together,  to  blacken  even  these  waters." 

"But  why  should  the  Missouri  be  dirty  when  the 
Mississippi  is  clear?" 

"I  have  always  supposed,"  answered  the  stranger 
solemnly,  "that  it  was  because  the  cow-boys  washed  in 
it." 

"Oh,  I  see."  Frank  meditated  a  few  moments. 
"But  then,  why  aren't  the  cow-boys  clean,  if  they  wash 
so  thoroughly?  I've  heard  that  they  were  not  an  im 
maculate  tribe,  at  least  in  the  old  days." 


148         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE   HARDY 

"They  aren't.  How  could  they  be,  washing  in  such 
a  dirty  river?" 

This  was  a  poser.  Frank  could  only  laugh  his 
answer. 

The  man  promised  well. 

"Everything  interests  me  out  here ;  it  seems  so  big." 
He  gave  himself  a  stretch  as  if  he,  too,  would  like  to 
grow. 

"The  country's  big,  but  the  people  aren't,"  the  other 
man  answered  glumly.  "Men  of  little  minds  are  in 
the  majority  everywhere,  my  friend.  We're  only 
younger,  not  larger.  Perhaps  we  have  neither  the  bal 
ance — nor  the  sin — of  the  East." 

"Are  you  going  far  up  the  line?" 

"A  couple  of  hundred  miles." 

"Then  we  shall  be  companions  for  "a  time." 

"Dinner  is  now  ready  in  the  dining-car.  First  call 
for  dinner !"  yelled  a  porter,  walking  down  the  aisle. 

"Suppose  we  go  in  and  get  something  to  eat?" 

"Meals  on  the  train  are  goblins  damned,  but  I'll 
go  you,"  returned  the  stranger. 

Frank  jumped  at  the  chance  of  having  a  table-com 
panion  and  lingering  over  his  meal,  instead  of  stoking 
from  the  mere  instinct  of  self-preservation. 

On  the  principle  that  anything  is  fun  at  sea,  so  any 
thing  moderately  human  will  do  to  talk  to  on  a  train. 


A   FRIEND  149 

Moreover,  food  loosens  a  man's  tongue,  even  if  it  be 
the  cinder-bedecorated  food  of  a  "diner."  Long  be 
fore  the  meal  was  over,  the  stranger  knew  that  Lenox 
was  making  his  maiden  trip  on  behalf  of  one  of  Wind 
sor's  minor  concerns,  and  Frank  knew  that  the  other 
was  on  a  similar  errand  for  another  firm.  But  there 
was  this  difference,  that  the  one  journeyed  in  the  hope 
of  better  things  to  come,  and  the  other  journeyed  in 
the  sodden  way  of  a  man  who  has  been  doing  the 
same  work  for  years  and  who  sees  no  rosy  clouds  on 
his  horizon. 

"It's  a  miserable  life,  spent  mostly  in  waiting  for  de 
layed  trains,  with  brief  intervals  of  intense  activity 
scattered  here  and  there."  Thus  the  older  man  sum 
marized  the  situation;  but  the  two  talked  on,  talked 
business  to  the  monotonous  rhythmic  rolling  of  the 
wheels.  Lenox  asked  a  hundred  questions  that  he  had 
been  half  ashamed  to  put  either  to  the  cynical  Kemyss 
or  the  preoccupied  Holton,  and  his  companion  an 
swered  with  good-natured  insight,  unfolding  a  world 
of  new  interests.  Each  was  unconsciously  revealing 
himself  to  the  other ;  the  elder  looked  at  the  clean  face 
of  the  young  one,  feeling  his  integrity,  envying  his 
mixture  of  boyishness  and  manliness,  and  liking  him ; 
the  younger  fumbled  with  the  question  of  why  this 
man,  who  showed  human  qualities,  good  sense,  and 


T50         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

even  a  bit  of  philosophy  now  and  again,  should  convey 
such  a  pitiful  sense  of  failure.  Though  his  nose  was 
what  the  botanists  call  indeterminate,  the  chin  was 
strong  enough.  Frank's  god  just  now  was  " Success." 
What  was  success?  What  must  one  have  to  gain  it? 
And  why  had  the  other  man  failed  ?  "Hustle"  seemed 
to  be  the  westerner's  watchword ;  yet  hustling  had  not 
availed  him,  but  had  left  him,  after  years  of  ener 
getic  drudgery,  still  "a  man  on  the  road." 

He  certainly  was  not  a  waster  of  time. 

"If  you  get  on  a  train  that  lives  up  to  its  name  of 
accommodation,  and  lingers  puffingly  at  the  station 
while  you  do  your  business  and  get  back,  you're  all 
right,"  said  the  man  of  experience;  "but  usually  you 
drop  from  the  platform  of  an  express  before  it  fairly 
stops,  interview  a  prosperous  farmer  or  two,  measure 
an  elevator  that  belongs  to  your  company,  or  address 
a  meeting  of  local  celebrities  who-  generally  can't  talk 
English  well  enough  to  answer  you  back,  so  they  have 
to  listen  to  your  oratory.  Then  you  seize  a  hasty 
lunch,  notice  that  the  freight  train  which  followed  in 
the  wake  of  the  passenger  has  arrived  and  is  about  to 
depart,  cram  a  few  fried  oysters  that  are  too  hot  to  be 
eaten  in  haste  into  an  envelope  in  your  pocket,  to  be 
devoured  later  in  the  caboose,  and  make  a  sprint  for 
it.  You  catch  on  just  as  the  train  is  beginning  to  make 


A   FRIEND  151 

speed,  and  so  on  to  the  next  station,  where  you  do  it 
over  again." 

"I  don't  see  how  you  get  time  to  do  so  much  between 
trains,"  Frank  found  himself  saying  in  reply  to  the 
description  of  his  companion's  rushing  methods. 

"Time!  You  don't  expect  to  have  time  given  to 
you  on  this  planet,  do  you  ?  Do  it  anyway !  After  all, 
when  is  there  any  time  ?  Not  even  in  infancy,  when  it 
is  necessary  to  have  ten  or  twelve  meals  daily,  or  later 
when  the  absorbing  manufacture  of  mud-pies  gives 
way  only  to  the  pursuit  of  gingerbread ;  certainly  not 
in  one's  school-days  when  one  is  beset  by  a  complica 
tion  of  measles  and  whooping  cough,  alternating  with 
cube  root ;  and  if  any  fellow  thinks  four  years  of  col 
lege  life  supply  unlimited  leisure — why,  let  him  try  it — 
that's  all.  Yes,  it's  a  voluminous  world,  and  even  here 
in  the  primeval  west,  where  man  might  be  supposed 
to  live  in  aboriginal  simplicity,  civilization  is  more  or 
less  complex.  The  world  is  a  great  deal  with  us,  and 
the  flesh  and  the  devil  are  hourly  expected  by  the  Chi 
cago  express.  There  is  'muchness'  out  here — not  the 
kind  that  the  dormouse  found  at  the  bottom  of  the 
treacle  w?ll,  but  the  kind  that  infests  this  century." 

"So  we  shall  have  to  leave  out  the  element  of  time?" 

"Yes,  sir,  we've  got  a  long  row  to  hoe,  and  it's  got 
to  be  done  in  no  time.  Did  you  ever  think  that  we've 


152         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

got  to  do  in  fifty  years,  out  in  a  new  community  like 
this,  what  older  places  have  taken  two  to  five  hundred 
years  about?  I  sometimes  envy  the  Indian  gentlemen, 
since  deceased,  who  lived  about  here  in  the  blessed 
days  before  there  was  any  wheat  grown  in  Minnesota. 
Did  you  happen  to  notice  them  moving  any  houses 
while  you  were  in  St.  Etienne  ?" 

"Yes." 

"That's  part  of  it.  The  very  homes  are  imbued  with 
the  western  spirit  of  unrest,  which  makes  them  unwill 
ing  to  endure  the  dreary  monotony  of  staying  in  the 
spot  where  they  are  built." 

"You  aren't  quite  fair.  They  are  only  being  re 
moved  because  they  occupy  valuable  ground,  and  must 
give  way  to  something  better." 

"Put  it  any  way  you  like.  But  you  want  to  go  slow 
if  you  can,  for  the  longer  you  live  here  the  greater 
your  impetus  will  come  to  be." 

"Well,  I  was  just  going  to  remind  you  that  we've 
been  having  a  very  leisurely  day  on  this  train,"  said 
Lenox.  "But  I  suppose  you  would  say  that  we've  been 
going  along  at  a  strenuous  pace,  something  less  than 
fifty  miles  an  hour,  not  to  mention  the  thousand  miles 
an  hour  the  earth  is  making  on  its  axis,  and  the  thou- 
sand-miles-a-minute  waltz  around  the  sun,  and  the 
thousand-miles-a-second  rush  in  the  orbit  of  the  solar 


A   FRIEND  153 

system.  How  the  old  concern  is  sliding  to  its  bases  on 
the  home  runs,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it!  It's  a 
swift  place." 

"Don't!    I'm  a  little  car-sick  already." 

"I  rather  like  the  pace.  It's  glorious  to  get  out  and 
see  things." 

"It  might  be,"  said  the  stranger,  with  a  somber  look 
coming  into  his  face,  as  if  he  were  stabbing  himself 
with  some  inner  misery  of  his  own.  "It  might  be,  if 
one  could  see  the  world  without  taking  oneself  along. 
The  worst  about  traveling  is  the  eternal  presence  of 
your  own  personality." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  Frank  felt  himself 
growing  interested  in  what  his  companion  had  to  say. 

"Why,  see  here,  I  knew  a  man  once  who  couldn't 
find  anything  to  enjoy  during  a  winter  in  Italy,  be 
cause  he  couldn't  get  buckwheat  cakes  for  breakfast. 
That's  what  I  mean.  It's  so  with  everything  and 
everybody.  Our  deepest  experiences  take  the  mold  of 
ourselves,  and  so  we  miss  completeness.  I  dream  of 
some  perfection  in  music,  in  art,  in  poetry,  even  in 
love ;  and  when  the  time  comes  for  that  ideal  thing  to 
touch  my  life,  my  own  personality  pops  up  and  lays 
its  disfiguring  hand  on  the  faultless  vision.  All  I  get 
out  of  it  is  a  caricature  of  myself.  I  always  stand  be 
tween  my  soul  and  the  ideal." 


154         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE   HARDY 

He  sat  silent  a  moment,  and  then  shook  himself  as 
if  to  forget  it. 

"I  wish  I  were  as  young  as  you,  and  could  do  it  over 
again,"  he  said.  "How  do  you  like  Mr.  Windsor?" 

"He's  fine.  He's  like  an  old  oak-tree !" 

"Let  me  see,  Kemyss  is  in  that  firm  too,  isn't  he? 
What  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"I  think  I  only  need  to  know  his  opinion  on  any 
subject  to  adopt  the  opposite,"  said  Frank. 

"You're  all  right.  I'm  with  you  there,  too.  He's  a 
ladies'  man." 

"I  hope  not.  I've  too  much  esteem  for  women  to 
think  so." 

"Well,  it's  not  their  fault  that  they  don't  read  char 
acter  very  well.  They  don't  see  enough  of  the  world 
to  know  the  difference  between  a  man's  pose  and  what 
he  is.  And  even  Mr.  Windsor  seems  to  like  Kemyss, 
though  that  is  largely  a  matter  of  tradition  which 
transfers  the  affection  for  the  father  to  the  son;  but 
perhaps  you  and  I  are  mistaken.  I  haven't  any  right 
to  be  asking  you  such  personal  questions." 

Frank  flushed  shamefacedly. 

"I  had  forgotten  that  we  are  comparative  strangers," 
he  said.  "Your  comments  on  life  have  transformed 
to-day's  journey  into  a  sort  of  essay  of  Elia." 

"Look,"  said  the  other;  "that's  Lake  Orono  we're 


A   FRIEND  155 

passing.  The  wind  is  getting  up  and  the  nymphs  and 
mer-gentlemen  are  doing  a  rushing  soda-water  busi 
ness  along  the  shore.  That's  the  nearest  to  surf  you'll 
find  in  these  unsalted  longitudes." 

The  glory  of  midday  had  slipped  into  the  level 
lights  and  shadows  of  afternoon.  The  stranger,  now 
a  stranger  no  longer,  pointed  at  the  whirling  landscape 
that  they  had  forgotten,  as  they  had  forgotten  the 
human  atoms  in  the  car. 

"By  the  same  token  that  is  the  last  of  Minnesota's 
ten  thousand  lakes.  We  are  getting  to  the  prairies,  and 
I  shall  soon  be  leaving  you  to  your  own  devices  in  a 
land  where  never  a  tree  or  shrub  belittles  the  West  for 
many  a  mile.  You'll  find  it  quite  large  enough  to  suit 
even  your  expansive  tastes;  but  I  question  whether 
you'll  find  a  big  man  in  every  village,  unless  you  are 
wise  enough  to  take  one  with  you.  But  here  we  part. 
The  next  station  is  Venice,  my  lad." 

Frank  laughed,  and  the  other  man  looked  at  him  in 
astonishment.  It  had  ceased  to  be  funny  to  him  to 
think  of  Venice  on  a  boundless  prairie. 

"The  West,  as  you  remarked  with  singular  original 
ity,  is  extensive,"  he  said.  "We  have  to  use  up  all  the 
old  names,  and  invent  a  lot  of  new  ones  in  order  to 
have  enough  to  go  round.  So  there  you  are!" 

"Yes,  but  that  does  not  make  it  the  less  ridiculous." 


156        THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

"See  here!  It  does  not  become  a  boy  from  Maine, 
with  Essiqualsagook  and  Anasagunticook  still  sound 
ing  in  his  ears,  to  make  fun  of  any  of  our  Minnesota 
names." 

"I  hope  we  shall  meet  again,"  said  Frank,  putting 
out  his  hand.  "My  name  is  Lenox." 

"I  shall  certainly  look  you  up  in  St.  Etienne,"  replied 
the  other,  clasping  Frank's  hand  warmly.  "Mean 
while  good  luck  to  you.  My  name  is  Lyell." 

"Ned  Lyell  ?"  The  words  seemed  to  slip  out,  with  all 
that  Windsor  had  told  him  crowding  memory  behind 
them. 

Lyell  looked  at  him  quizzically.  "I'm  glad  my  name 
is  a  household  word,"  he  said.  "You  seem  very  famil 
iar  with  it." 

"I  met  your  wife  a  few  nights  ago  at  Mr.  Wind 
sor's,"  Frank  explained. 

There  was  no  apparent  reason  for  the  little  con 
straint  that  fell  on  both  of  them. 

"Ah  ?" — and  Lyell  turned  about  to  gather  up  his  bag 
and  umbrella.  Frank  followed  him  out  to  the  plat 
form,  and  looked  at  the  three  elevators,  seven  saloons, 
two  dingy  hotels  and  water-tank  that  constituted 
Venice. 

"Is  this  the  Grand  Canal  ?"  he  shouted,  pointing  to 
the  dirty  ditch  that  skirted  the  track.  Lyell  gave  him 


A   FRIEND  157 

a  friendly  nod  and  waved  his  hand  by  way  of  farewell, 
but  Frank  saw  that  he  looked  tired  and  depressed. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE    MAKING   OF   A   DRUMMER 

With  a  fine  disregard  for  geographic  probabilities, 
the  station  beyond  Venice  proved  to  be  Mexico,  and 
here  Lenox  made  his  debut  on  business  life. 

If  one  is  but  young  enough,  even  the  begging  of 
grain  from  Swede  farmers  looks  like  a  roseate  occu 
pation.  Lenox's  budding  westernism  was  like  the  en 
thusiasm  of  a  new  convert ;  but  in  spite  of  this,  Mex 
ico  looked  to  him  a  discouraging  place.  Twilight  was 
depressing  the  world.  The  train  shrieked  away  into 
the  shadows.  The  little  wooden  platform  presented 
pitfalls  in  the  shape  of  loosening  boards  that  sprang 
tip  at  one  end  when  his  stalwart  foot  was  placed  on  the 
other.  Not  a  tree  was  visible ;  but  an  iron  pipe,  sticking 
its  ugly  nozzle  from  under  the  sidewalk,  disgorged 
water  from  some  unknown  depth  into  the  gutter, 
down  which  it  ran,  providing  a  bath  for  a  flock  of 
dirty  and  belated  ducks  before  it  lost  itself  in  mother 
earth.  A  sign-post,  with  an  outstretched  finger,  sug- 

158 


THE   MAKING   OF   A   DRUMMER      159 

gested  that  it  was  a  good  thing  to  move  on  and  added 
the  further  information,  "Fillmore  St." 

Lenox  could  not  refrain  from  smiling  to  himself 
at  the  implied  pun,  the  name  seemed  so  apt. 

The  Mexico  Hotel  rose  a  hundred  feet  away,  a 
barn-like  building  with  a  false  front  that  stuck  up  half 
a  story  above  its  actual  roof  in  a  transparent  makeshift 
at  importance.  Lenox  had  in  his  note-book  the  name 
of  one  Lars  Hagenson,  a  gentleman  quite  unrelated  to 
the  illustrious  Porsena  of  Clusium,  but  the  manager  of 
the  Mexico  Farmers'  Elevator  Company,  and  a  per 
son  from  whom  it  was  desirable  that  he  should  solicit 
business.  He  sought  the  hotel  in  search  of  food  and 
information. 

The  outer  office  of  the  hotel  was  .full  of  ill-smell 
ing  threshers,  gathered  from  all  quarters  to  share  in 
the  labors  and  returns  of  the  great  harvest  fields,  and 
after  weeks  of  drudgery  and  isolation  from  the  temp 
tations  of  the  lively  city  to  pour  out  the  whole  of 
their  hoarded  earnings  in  a  single  night  of  orgy.  As 
yet  that  joyous  time  was  not  come.  The  resources  of 
Mexico  were  unequal  to  affording  an  adequate  outlet 
to  uncivilized  young  blood ;  and  they  contented  them 
selves  with  chewing  tobacco  and  decorating  the  floor. 
But  perhaps,  after  the  fashion  of  the  laboring  man  of 
romance,  they  were  innate  gentlemen.  At  any  rate 


i6ol      'THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

when  one  inadvertently  stepped  on  Frank's  toes,  he 
said,  "Excuse  me !" 

Escaping  from  their  society,  Lenox  penetrated  to  an 
inner  room,  about  five  feet  by  ten,  where  an  old  man 
rocked  feebly  in  an  ancient  chair  whose  half-dozen 
upright  spokes,  since  the  head-board  was  gone,  stuck 
into  his  neck.  A  large  blackboard  in  the  back  wall 
bore  the  mystic  characters,  "Corn  5.00,  Hay  6.25,  Pork 
6.50."  Except  for  this  decoration  and  a  tiny  counter 
with  a  few  boxes  of  cigars,  the  room  was  empty  and 
inhospitable. 

The  old  man  continued  his  futile  rocking,  and  Frank 
looked  helplessly  around. 

"Can  I  get  a  room  here  ?"  he  asked  at  last. 

"Hay?"  said  the  old  man  loudly,  and  stopped  his 
rhythmic  motion. 

Frank  repeated  his  question  fortissimo.  He  found 
himself  seized  by  the  collar,  whirled  around  until  his 
face  was  in  full  light,  and  scrutinized  at  six-inch 
range. 

"Well,  have  you  classified  me?"  he  asked  at  length, 
much  amused. 

"Yip,  I  guess  so.  You  want  a  room  to  yourself.  I 
dunno  whether  there  is  one  or  whether  you'll  have  to 
share  up  with  some  one  else." 

"Not  with  a  thresher,  on  your  life !"  said  Frank. 


THE   MAKING   OF   A   DRUMMER      161 

But  the  old  man  pushed  the  rocking  chair  toward 
him,  and  made  off  in  silence.  Sitting  gingerly  on  the 
front  edge  of  the  chair,  Frank  absently  picked  up  the 
sole  representative  of  literature,  a  green-covered  cook 
book  in  whose  blank-paged  latter  end  additional  wis 
dom  had  been  inserted  in  a  scrawling  feminine  hand. 
Automatically  he  read  the  recipes  for  gingerbread, 
throat  wash  for  diphtheria,  dandruff  cure  and  snow 
cake,  and  then  the  old  man*  came  back.  After  he  had 
learned  that  the  farm  of  Lars  Hagenson  was  three 
miles  "  'cross  prairie,"  Frank  was  glad  to  retire  to  a 
stuffy  bedroom,  smelling  of  wall-paper  paste,  to  wash 
his  be-cindered  face  and  polish  it  with  a  towel  of  the 
rough  variety  that  needs  no  washing  but  is  refolded 
for  each  succeeding  guest.  As  he  lifted  his  face  from 
its  unsavory  depths  he  murmured : 

"I  wonder  if  Kemyss  was  ever  in  Mexico.  I  wonder 
if  this  is  part  of  a  diabolical  scheme." 

He  found  himself  in  front  of  a  neatly  painted  sign, 
"Dining-room,"  where  his  healthy  appetite  faced  a 
shadowy  steak,  a  baked  potato,  two  diminutive  rolls, 
and  one-eighth  of  a  canned  pear  swimming  in  its 
own  gravy.  It  was  vain  to  try  to  get  a  bit  of  extra 
nourishment  out  of  the  potato  skin,  for  the  waiting 
maid  had  her  eye  on  him,  and  dignity  forbade  too 
great  an  effort.  He  went  out  and  wandered  up  Fill- 


162         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

more  Street,  in  deepening  gloom  inside  and  out,  be 
fore  turning  in  to  go  to  a  dubious  bed,  diversified  by 
hill  and  plain,  promontory  and  table-land. 

The  next  morning  the  world,  if  not  more  lovely,  was 
at  least  less  gruesome,  and  the  boy  found  himself 
singing  Marching  through  Georgia.  This  is  a  sure 
sign  that  spirits  are  up.  He  ate  everything  on  which 
he  could  lay  his  hands  for  breakfast,  took  the  bicycle 
he  had  brought  with  him,  and  started  in  pursuit  of 
fortune.  Away  he  sped  in  the  unblemished  sunshine, 
with  the  treeless  level  around  him.  A  distant  speck 
loomed  bigger  and  bigger  and  became  a  small  patched- 
up,  manure-banked,  never-painted  shanty.  Half  the 
windows  were  stuffed  with  rags.  Garbage  and  flutter 
ing  refuse  lay  around  the  door.  All  the  surroundings 
pointed  to  poverty  and  squalor  in  this  prairie  slum, 
save  the  instruments  of  husbandry;  for  the  sun  beat 
on  an  expensive  self-binder,  left  where  it  had  been 
hauled  at  the  completion  of  the  last  harvest.  At  the  end 
of  the  field  the  weeds  grew  rank  through  a  new  make  of 
seeder,  which  stood  at  the  end  of  its  last  round,  though 
an  uncut  bit  of  crop  was  near  the  wheel  top. 

A  stable  built  of  poles,  with  crazy  strap-hinged 
doors,  was  thatched  with  straw  and  manure,  the  straw 
part  having  been  largely  eaten  away.  On  its  floor  two 
forlorn  husbandless  hens  pecked  for  flies,  because  the 


THE   MAKING   OF   A   DRUMMER      163 

refuse,  turned  over  many  times,  contained  not  another 
grain.  But  even  the  flies  had  gone,  migrated  to  a  sore- 
legged  horse  that  basked  hopelessly  in  the  sunshine. 
Lenox  got  off  his  wheel  and  stared.  This  was  neither 
the  neat  farmstead  to  which  his  Yankee  eyes  were  ac 
customed,  nor  yet  that  which  his  imagination  had 
painted  as  belonging  to  the  rich  and  mighty  West. 

The  door  of  the  house  opened  and  three  great  dogs 
rushed  at  him,  followed  at  leisure  by  a  lank  creature 
with  the  expressionless  face  of  country  women. 

"Is  this  where  Mr.  Lars  Hagenson  lives?" 

"Huh  ?"  said  the  woman. 

"Does  Lars  Hagenson  live  here  ?" 

"My  no !  I  sh'd  think  not !  He's  one  of  those  rich 
Swedes  that  takes  the  bread  out  of  us  folks'  mouths, 
gettin'  all  the  best  land  from  us.  That's  what  he  is !" 
She  spoke  viciously. 

"Where  does  he  live?" 

'  'Bout  a  mile  further  'cross  prairie."  She  pointed 
at  a  distant  speck. 

"What  kind  of  a  crop  are  you  having  this  year?" 
Lenox  asked  in  friendly  spirit. 

"Crops,  nothin' !  We  ain't  hed  nothin'  but  bad  luck 
sence  we  struck  this  country.  In  fact  we've  hed  bad 
luck  in  'most  every  state  from  Texas  up,  but  this  is 
the  wu'st  we  ever  had,"  she  said  listlessly. 


164         THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

Lenox  looked  at  the  stable,  the  hens  and  the  rags. 

"You  seem  to  have  some  pretty  good  machinery/* 
he  observed. 

"  'Tain't  paid  fur.  And  we  hed  to  mortgage  the  farm 
to  get  it." 

"Then  I  should  think  it  would  pay  you  to  build 
some  kind  of  shelter  for  it." 

The  woman  looked  at  him  in  a  kind  of  dull  astonish 
ment. 

"What's  the  use  ?  We'll  lose  the  farm  on  the  mort 
gage  in  a  year  or  two  anyway.  Besides,  it  ain't  rained 
for  two  months.  I  never  see  such  a  dry  season.  Can't 
you  see  the  whole  country's  scorched  up  ?" 

"I  suppose  it  will  rain  sometime,  and  snow,  too." 

Lenox  turned  to  his  wheel  with  a  deep  sympathy  for 
the  man  who  owned  the  mortgage.  The  woman  sat 
on  the  doorstep  absorbed  in  contemplation  of  his  dis 
appearing  back,  and  the  flies  moved  from  the  dis 
couraged  horse  through  the  open  door  behind  her. 

"Am  I  expected  to  earn  my  living  by  getting  a  com 
mission  on  the  grain  these  people  raise  ?"  Lenox  asked 
himself,  and  his  heart  grew  heavy  within  him,  for  in 
deed  the  prospect  was  not  encouraging. 

There  came  a  change.  The  fields  were  no  longer  a 
thriftless  waste.  A  big  Swede  and  his  wife  were  hard 
at  work  stacking,  as  Lenox  rode  up  and  dismounted. 


THE    MAKING   OF   A   DRUMMER      165 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  Mr.  Lars  Hagen- 
son?" 

The  farmer  turned,  stopped  his  work,  thought  pro 
foundly,  spat  out  the  mouthful  of  wheat  he  was  chew 
ing  with  great  deliberation,  and  answered: 

"Ay  guess  that  vas  me." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Hagenson,  let  me  take  your  wife's  place 
for  a  while.  I  want  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you." 
Frank  tried  to  be  as  suave  as  the  English  language  will 
allow.  "I  understand  that  you  are  the  manager  of  the 
Farmers'  Elevator.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  a  bit  about 
the  St.  Pierre  Company,  which  I  represent." 

The  big  Swede  grinned  agreeably. 

"You  are  the  ninth  fallar  thas  veek,"  he  said.  "No, 
Ay  tank  Ay  no  change  pooty  soon.  Ay  ban  all  right 
lak  Ay  vas." 

Stacking  in  the  hot  sun  was  not  easy  work,  even 
for  the  Maine  country  boy,  but  doing  business  with  a 
man  who  never  heard  of  him  and  was  manifestly  in 
different  to  that  deprivation,  proved  still  harder. 
Frank2  however,  had  enough  of  the  blood  of  his  an 
cestors  in  him  not  to  know  when  he  was  beaten.  By 
dint  of  imperturbable  good  humor  and  still  more 
through  a  kind  of  big  human  sympathy  that  was  in 
him,  two  hours  of  effort,  physical  and  mental,  and  ora 
tory  that  would  have  lent  luster  to  the  Lincoln-Doug- 


i66        THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

las  debates,  resulted  in  the  old  man's  saying,  with  the 
air  of  a  monarch  graciously  conferring  a  favor  on  a 
subject: 

"Vail,  Ay  send  your  damn  company  van  car.  Ay 
try  dam!"  Further  he  unbent  so  far  as  to  add:  "Ay 
go  to  town  onny  vay  van  Ay  gat  my  dinner.  You  vant 
to  vait  Ay  drive  you  in." 

Lenox  was  hungry  himself,  but  Mr.  Hagenson  ex 
tended  no  hospitable  country  invitation  to  his  midday 
repast,  and  in  full  view  of  the  neat  farmstead  into 
which  Hagenson  disappeared,  our  disconsolate  hero 
sat  down  in  the  shade  of  a  stack,  munched  a  handful 
of  wheat,  and  waited.  The  land  about  him  was  as 
different  from  that  of  the  preceding  farm  as  though 
it  had  lain  in  a  remote  country.  Here  the  prodigality 
of  the  crop  looked  like  nature's  own.  The  home  that 
lay  before  him  was  trim  and  freshly  painted.  Pots  of 
flowers  stood  in  white-curtained  windows.  But  it  was 
evident  that  the  thrift  of  Lars  Hagenson  wasted  noth 
ing  on  the  drummer  within  his  gates.  This  Lenox  could 
endure  with  equanimity.  Greater  than  hunger  was  his 
appetite  to  see  that  first  car,  the  fruit  of  his  virgin 
effort,  shipped  to  St.  Etienne — the  monster  that  waits 
to  devour  all  the  food  that  a  tributary  country  can  pour 
into  its  greedy  maws. 

Two  freight  cars  stood  on  the  track  at  Mexico.   Sat- 


THE    MAKING   OF   A   DRUMMER      167 

isfaction  rayed  from  Lenox's  face  as  he  saw  the.  full, 
one  billed  to  the  St.  Pierre  Company. 

"Mr.  Hagenson,"  he  asked  with  a  heartfelt  sigh, 
"isn't  there  some  place  where  I  can  give  you  a  glass 
of  beer?" 

"Young  fallar,"  Lars  answered  solemnly,  "af  you 
vant  beer,  you  gat  to  go  back  to  Venice.  Day  are  bad 
people  back  dar  in  Meensota.  You  don't  gat  no  beer 
in  Nort  Dakotah.  You  vant  to  coom  'cross  das  street, 
you  can  give  me  a  cup  of  cold  tea." 

A  roseate  giant,  blue-eyed  and  infantile,  who  was 
superintending  the  loading  of  the  other  car,  laughed 
joyously.  Lenox  turned  to  him. 

"Will  you  join  us  in  a  cup  of  cold  tea?"  he  asked 
cordially. 

"Tank  you.  You  bat  Ay  vill !"  The  giant's  answer 
came  with  alacrity. 

Seated  in  a  back  room,  behind  the  elaborate  secrecy 
of  a  cotton  curtain,  the  three  found  three  cans  of  ex 
ceedingly  bad  beer,  its  extra  vileness  being  a  tribute 
to  the  prohibition  law.  The  blue-eyed  giant  grew  so 
mellow  after  the  departure  of  Mr.  Hagenson  and  a 
second  order  of  the  evil  mixture,  that  Lenox  took 
fresh  heart,  and  in  consequence  of  this  manoeuver  car 
number  two  went  not  to  the  J.  T.  Thruman  Company, 
as  it  was  originally  destined. 


i68         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

"Ay  guess  dat  odar  fallar  vill  be  mad,"  said  the 
giant  meditatively. 

As  the  afternoon  freight  stopped,  picked  up  the  two 
cars  from  their  siding,  and  pulled  southward,  Lenox 
stood  looking  after  them  with  a  conviction  that  the 
world  was  in  truth  his  oyster,  and  with  an  elation  to 
be  satisfied  only  by  fresh  effort. 

In  the  gathering  dusk  he  looked  at  his  map.  If  he 
could  make  his  next  town,  Gracetown,  that  night,  he 
might  gain  several  hours  on  the  Kemyss  schedule. 
There  was  no  train  till  the  next  day.  Twenty  miles! 
Well,  what  were  twenty  miles  on  a  crisp  October  even 
ing,  even  over  a  rough  prairie  road?  Besides,  Grace- 
town  sounded  as  though  the  beds  might  be  better  than 
in  Mexico.  He  folded  his  map  and  pushed  his  wheel 
up  the  platform  to  the  little  station. 

"What  kind  of  a  place  is  Gracetown  ?"  he  asked  the 
station  agent. 

"A  six  house,  three  elevator,  one-horse  town,  with 
a  bad  hotel," — and  the  agent  went  whistling  about  his 
work. 

The  wind  was  blowing  in  Frank's  face  as  he  started, 
but  a  mile  or  two  out  it  whirled  with  a  roar  around  to 
the  south.  The  tumble-weeds,  which  had  been  piled  on 
the  upper  sides  of  the  fences,  when  the  change  came, 
started  to  race  for  the  north  pole.  Hundreds  of  thou- 


THE   MAKING   OF   A   DRUMMER      169 

sands  of  them  rolled  and  jumped  over  plowed  land  and 
stubble  and  prairie;  and,  as  the  daylight  waned,  they 
looked  like  ghosts  hurrying  to  some  vast  inferno,  the 
greater  ones,  often  four  feet  in  diameter,  leaping  along 
and  outstripping  the  babies.  With  them  flew  the  bi 
cycle. 

It  was  dark  and  late  for  a  country  town  where  there 
was  no  saloon,  when  Lenox  came  to  Gracetown.  The 
wind  howled  across  the  prairie;  not  a  light  shone  in 
the  dingy  little  street  of  a  few  scattered  houses  and 
stores.  Frank  stumbled  along  until  he  came  to  the 
legend,  "Hotel."  He  pounded  twice  or  thrice  without 
getting  an  answer.  He  tried  the  door,  found  it  un 
locked  and  walked  in.  The  place  smelled  warm  and 
populous.  He  lit  a  match  and  found  an  old  lantern,  by 
whose  light  he  explored  until,  in  a  back  room,  he  found 
his  hostess  fast  asleep.  After  retiring  from  the  room 
and  knocking  to  awaken  her,  he  explained  politely  that 
it  was  his  desire  to  procure  a  room  for  the  night.  With 
some  asperity,  through  a  crack  in  the  door,  she  an 
swered  : 

'There  ain't  a  bed  to  spare  in  the  house.  There's  a 
populist  convention  goin'  on,  and  we  ain't  got  an  extry 
bed,  nor  an  extry  cot.  There's  most  of  'em  sleepin' 
double  as  it  is,  anyhow !" 

"But,  madam,"  said  Frank  doggedly,  "I  can't  sleep 


170        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE  HARDY 

on  the  doorstep,  and  I  can't  get  anywhere  else  to 
night." 

"Well,  that  ain't  my  fault,"  she  said. 

He  waited,  hearing  her  fumbling  around  inside,  evi 
dently  hunting  for  her  clothes  and  an  idea.  At  last  she 
appeared.  Frank  considerately  held  his  lantern  on  the 
off  side  while  she  looked  him  over  with  the  eye  of  a 
connoisseur.  He  did  not  return  her  gaze,  but  her 
survey  evidently  satisfied  her. 

"They's  an  old  sofy  in  the  dining-room,"  she  said 
at  last.  "Perhaps  if  we  pulled  it  up  clost  to  the  stove 
you  could  sleep  on  that." 

"I  should  be  grateful  for  almost  anything,"  said 
Frank  wearily. 

They  joined  in  pulling  the  sofa  out.  She  took  the 
lantern  and  disappeared  to  return  with  a  pair  of  clean 
sheets,  or  at  least  sheets  that  had  been  freshly  ironed. 
She  spread  them  over  the  sofa. 

"Now  for  blankets,"  said  Mrs.  Josephs,  "I  don't 
know  what  to  do."  She  looked  helplessly  at  the  young 
man. 

"Do  you  think  the  Populists  are  fast  enough  asleep 
so  that  we  might  steal  a  few?"  he  suggested.  Her 
face  brightened. 

"No,  not  in  that  room."  She  laid  a  detaining  hand 
on  his  arms.  "He's  the  chairman.  But  I  don't  like  this 


THE   MAKING   OF   A   DRUMMER      171 

feller,  and  I  don't  know  as  I  care  a  mite  if  he  does  wake 
up  cold  on  toward  morning." 

"Now,  madam,"  said  Frank,  "will  you  kindly  let  me 
have  a  glass  of  milk  and — oh,  almost  anything  else  to 
eat,  while  you  make  my  bed  ?" 

The  "sofy"  was  only  four  feet  long,  and  Lenox 
stood  something  over  six  feet,  but  he  let  his  legs  hang 
over  while  the  rest  of  his  anatomy  took  naps.  The 
legs,  however,  soon  went  to  sleep,  too.  Once,  before 
final  unconsciousness,  the  humor  of  it  struck  him  and 
he  laughed  aloud. 

"These  are  the  sufferings  of  Miss  Windsor's  knight- 
errant.  By  Jove  though,  I  must  be  up  betimes.  I 
shouldn't  like  the  Populists  to  watch  me  shave  while 
they  eat  their  breakfast.  There  must  be  an  extra  lot 
of  farmers  in  town.  I  will  work  them,  as  I  am  a  true 
son  of  Minnesota." 

In  Gracetown  therefore  he  put  in  an  ardent  but 
fruitless  day's  work.  The  farmers  were  evidently 
hardened  to  all  the  wiles  of  a  grain  solicitor,  and  much 
less  susceptible  to  his  admirable  arguments  than  was 
he  himself.  Moreover,  the  joys  of  political  discussion, 
for  which  the  native  American  has  a  natural  liking 
only  a  little  greater  than  has  the  adopted  American,  and 
the  vilification  of  both  -Republicans  and  Democrats, 
downed  all  other  interests. 


172         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

Another  night  on  Mrs.  Josephs'  abbreviated  sofa  was 
beyond  human  endurance.  Slowing  up  at  the  water- 
tank  of  Gracetown  station,  Lenox  saw  an  interminable 
train  of  flat  cars,  laden  with  gravel  and  pulled  by  two 
monster  engines.  That  which  Lyell  could  do  why 
might  not  Lenox?  He  took  his  grip  and  his  bicycle 
and  sought  the  freight. 

"Nah,  ye  don't,"  said  the  conductor.  "It's  absolutely 
against  rules  to  let  any  one  on." 

"Can't  I  get  a  special  permission  from  the  agent  ?" 

"For  way-freights,  yes,"  replied  the  conductor; 
"but  not  for  gravel  trains." 

The  conductor  went  forward  and  Frank  waited 
until  the  long  snake  got  well  under  way ;  then  he  flung 
his  wheel  on  one  of  the  cars,  swung  himself  on  with 
one  hand,  holding  his  grip  with  the  other,  and  congrat 
ulated  himself  on  his  cleverness. 

"They  can't  possibly  put  me  off  until  we  get  to  the 
next  station,"  he  said  to  himself  with  saturnine  glee. 

The  sky  was  crystalline  and  warm;  a  stiff  breeze, 
pure  and  sweet  from  the  harvest  fields,  filled  his  heart 
with  the  joy  of  living  and  his  lungs  with  champagne. 
Once  out  of  the  little  town,  the  broad  teeming  acres  of 
wheat  spoke  of  peace  and  prosperity,  and  the  cry  of 
wild  geese  came  from  nowhere  up  in  the  blue. 

The  engine  crawled  up  a  steep  incline  and  Frank 


THE    MAKING   OF   A    DRUMMER      173 

settled  himself  comfortably  on  his  tiny  platform  and 
was  content  with  the  day-dreams  of  youth. 

And  now  the  speed  increased.  The  bicycle,  lying  on 
the  gravel,  gave  a  preliminary  hop  and  skip  before  a 
livelier  dance.  Frank  seized  and  fastened  it  over  the 
brake  wheel  to  steady  it.  A  down  grade  lay  before 
them  and  the  engineer  pulled  the  throttle  wide  open, 
so  that  with  long  leaps  the  train  flew  through  the  air, 
scarcely  seeming  to  touch  the  tracks.  Even  the  coup 
lings  were  stretched  to  their  utmost  and  the  cars 
pulled  far  apart  through  their  descent.  A  fine  drift  of 
pebbles  and  sand  rose  from  the  cars  in  front.  The  drift 
became  a  cannonade,  thicker,  swifter,  bigger,  shot  and 
shell,  all  apparently  aimed  with  unerring  accuracy  at 
Frank's  hands  and  face.  It  took  all  his  muscle  and  at 
tention  to  keep  himself  from  joining  in  the  stony  rain 
as  it  whirled  backward.  He  had  no  extra  strength  for 
self-protection.  Every  available  crevice  and  opening 
about  him  filled  with  sand.  He  closed  his  eyes  and 
shut  his  teeth.  The  train  roared  and  pounded  ever 
faster  and  faster  down  the  hillside  and  the  bombard 
ment  grew  to  torture.  There  came  a  triumphant  shriek 
from  the  engine  which  rejoiced  in  its  cruel  puckish- 
ness,  the  bumping  and  grape-shot  grew  less  and 
stopped.  Frank  opened  one  eye  cautiously  and  saw 
that  he  was  at  rest  with  a  platform  beside  him.  Tenta- 


174        THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

tively  he  shook  himself,  gratified  to  find  not  a  mass 
of  shapeless  jelly,  but  a  man  intact. 

"Gee  whizz!"  said  a  voice  beside  him.  "Were  you 
on  there  all  the  time  ?" 

Lenox  looked  at  the  open-mouthed  conductor  and 
smiled  sadly. 

"Do  I  look  as  though  I  had  had  the  smallpox  ?"  he 
said.  "I'm  sorry  I  broke  the  rules  of  the  road.  I'll 
never  do  it  again." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!  That's  all  right,"— and  the 
conductor  was  obliged,  as  an  outlet  for  his  friendly 
feelings,  to  shake  hands  and  even  to  help  unload  the 
bicycle. 

"Thank  heaven  I've  got  to  a  decent  place,  anyway," 
said  the  culprit. 

"Oh,  Betterton  is  all  right,  but  next  time  you  want 
to  come  in  a  Pullman.  You  ain't  built  for  a  tramp. 
So  long!"  The  conductor  waved  a  cheerful  good-by 
and  grinned. 

An  animated  band  without  the  least  pretense  at 
classical  aims  sounded  through  the  little  streets  and  a 
trim  white  hotel  disported  itself  in  patriotic  bunting 
for  the  benefit  of  an  enthusiastic  village  crowd,  who 
had  flocked  to  a  fete-day  by  train,  by  bicycle  and  by 
wagons  decorated  with  branches  of  flaming  autumn 
colors.  Fakirs,  roulette  wheels,  cheers  from  a  roped-in 


THE   MAKING   OF   A   DRUMMER      175 

base-ball  ground  at  one  side  mingled  with  the  allur 
ing  "Lemo-lemo-lemonade"  cry  from  temporary  and 
temperance  bars  along  the  gay  highway.  Every  face 
was  glowing  with  soap  and  good  nature.  Every  young 
man  had  money  in  his  pockets  and  every  girl  knew  it. 
Was  not  the  harvest  nearly  over? 

For  a  moment  Lenox  stopped  to  watch  the  truly 
rustic  sport  of  potato  racing.  A  greased  pole  stood  at 
one  side  and  a  burst  of  applause  rose  for  the  small  boy 
who2  with  the  wisdom  of  his  Connecticut  ancestors, 
had  treated  his  arms  and  legs  to  powdered  rosin  before 
entering  the  contest,  and  now  proudly  waved  his  cap 
above  his  freckled  face  at  the  top  of  his  slippery  emi 
nence. 

."I  wonder  what  rosin  I  can  use  for  the  pole  I  am 
trying  to  climb,"  Lenox  said  to  himself.  "If  I  don't 
succeed  in  scaling  it  I  shall  soon  be  up  a  tree." 

He  passed  on  to  the  joys  of  a  clean  towel,  a  clean 
and  abundant  supper  and,  finally,  of  a  clean  bed. 

So  the  days  plodded  by.  A  rough-and-tumble  intro 
duction  to  life  was  this,  and  often  nauseating  enough 
when,  as  frequently  happened,  it  meant  the  currying 
of  favor  from  the  unwashed  and  ungrammatical. 

Many  kinds  of  men  and  many  kinds  of  country  he 
saw.  There  was  the  broad  prairie,  tricked  with  rain 
bow-colored  flowers,  continuous  as  the  sea,  and  yet 


176        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

slipping  by  imperceptible  grades  into  rolling  country 
where  great  forests  fought  with  the  small  growth  of 
the  plain  for  possession  of  the  earth.  Strong  rivers 
seamed  this  northland  and  marked  a  path  of  denser 
green.  Multitudes  of  lakes  hung  like  a  string  of 
sapphires  upon  the  bosom  of  the  mighty  mother  earth. 
Desolate  villages,  with  no  seeming  reason  for  their 
existence,  marred  nature  by  their  slovenliness,  and 
thriving  towns  sprang  into  being,  full  of  energy  and 
hope,  emulous  of  the  growth  of  St.  Etienne — that 
mushroom  for  rapidity  and  oak  for  sturdy  sinews. 

And  various  as  were  the  types  of  nature,  so  various 
were  the  types  of  men.  There  was  the  westernized 
Yankee,  bringing  to  bear  his  nasal  humor  and  his 
energy  on  the  problems  of  a  new  country,  and  vital 
with  the  same  old  force  that  compels  new-come  races 
to  remodel  themselves  to  his  form.  There  was  pre 
dominantly  the  Scandinavian,  blond,  hard-working, 
shrewd  and  honest;  there  was  the  primitive  and  un 
ambitious  Lapp ;  there  was  the  colony  of  Englishmen, 
trying  to  transplant  to  this  wayward  young  savage 
of  a  country  the  traditional  exquisite  country  life  of 
the  long-cultivated,  tight  little  island ;  there  was  even 
the  prosperous  Jew  turned  farmer. 

But  everywhere  there  was  the  great  army  of  the 
shiftless,  spawned  by  the  very  superabundance  of  these 


THE   MAKING   OF   A   DRUMMER      177 

United  States,  and  for  ever  looking  for  nature  to  lay 
in  their  hands  the  bread  and  butter  that  they  are  too 
lazy  to  harvest  and  to  churn  for  themselves.  Things 
come  so  easily,  say  they,  surely  there  must  be  some 
where  a  land  where  they  come  still  easier.  Toward 
every  point  from  which  there  comes  a  rumor  of  pros 
perity  the  shiftless  wander,  up  from  the  southland,  in 
from  the  eastland,  always  selling  the  old  home  for  a 
trifle  and  moving  on,  for  ever  doomed  to  disappoint 
ment.  For  though  nature  never  did  betray  the  heart 
that  loved  her,  neither  the  hand  that  labored  for  her, 
yet  to  the  improvident  as  to  the  unpoetic,  she  is  a  bit 
ter  taskmistress  with  a  sardonic  smile  always  upon  her 
mobile  lips;  and  the  farther  north  the  do-nothings 
come,  the  more  mercilessly  she  stings  them  with  sum 
mer  heats  and  lashes  them  with  winter  winds,  as  cru 
elly  as  though  she  had  forgotten  the  radiant  smile  that 
she  knows  how  to  turn  upon  her  more-favored  ser 
vants. 

There  were  up  days  and  down  days,  but  on  the 
whole  Lenox  was  aware  that  he  was  making  no  mean 
record  for  a  beginner.  Moreover,  a  little  at  a  time,  he 
gained  on  his  schedule ;  and  as  his  first  week  drew  to 
a  close,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  that  he  was 
a  whole  day  ahead  of  his  time-table.  He  was  back  in 
Minnesota  by  this  time,  on  the  border  land  where  the 


178         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE   HARDY 

level  monotony  of  the  prairie  slipped  into  gentle  un 
dulations,  broken  by  limpid  lakes  and  the  swift  mur 
mur  of  occasional  streams.  The  fringe  of  virgin  for 
ests,  solemn  mighty  pines,  thrust  their  long  spurs  into 
the  open. 

Here  late  one  afternoon,  Lenox  rode  into  Minturn, 
to  be  told  that  the  subject  of  his  next  attack,  Sven 
Svenson,  had  gone  to  Pine  Vale  to  look  after  some 
lumber  interests.  The  representative  of  a  rival  grain 
firm,  who  stood  on  the  platform,  laughed  sardonically 
as  Frank's  face  fell  at  this  information. 

"Guess  there's  two  of  us  disappointed,"  he  said.  "I 
was  on  his  trail,  too.  He's  a  mighty  potentate  in  this 
section.  And  now  we're  stranded  in  this  hole ;  no  train 
out  for  twenty-four  hours,  and  a  beast  of  a  hotel! 
Hope  you've  got  a  good  novel." 

He  laughed  again,  strolled  across  the  street,  fol 
lowed  by  his  novice  competitor,  and  halted  before  a 
large  placard  meant  to  tempt  inexperienced  travelers 
from  the  train  to  the  eating-room. 

"  'Warm  meals  and  lunches !'  Warmed  up,  they 
mean !  'Board  by  the  day  or  week !'  Not  for  me !"  He 
read  and  commented.  "'Cigars!'  Home  grown! 
'Canned  goods  !'  Part  of  Noah's  stock !  'Nuts  !'  War 
ranted  eleven  years  old!  'Fruits!'  Dried  apples  and 
prunes  !  'Oysters  in  every  style !'  Very  dead !" 


THE    MAKING   OF   A   DRUMMER      179 

Thus  spake  the  man  of  experience.  Lenox  left  him 
and  went  back  to  the  station  agent. 

"How  far  to  Pine  Vale?" 

"A  matter  of  thirty  mile."  The  agent  was  a  man 
of  few  words. 

"Any  town  with  a  hotel  between  here  and  there  ?" 

"Well,  there's  Valkyrie.  Not  much  of  a  town.  Kind 
of  a  place  where  nothing  ever  happens." 

The  night  was  coming  on  apace,  but  Lenox  mounted 
his  wheel  and  started  forth,  rinding  himself  lulled  into 
a  serene  state  of  mind  by  the  gentle  witchery  of  the 
moon,  and  feeling  very  friendly  toward  the  gophers 
who  came  out  of  their  holes  to  wear  out  their  clothes 
by  sliding  down  boulders. 

At  Valkyrie  he  took  a  short  nap  before  breakfast, 
and  was  off  again  just  as  the  sun  peeped  into  the  valley 
through  tumbled  pink  clouds  that  proved  to  him  that 
the  old  masters  were  right  in  their  representations 
since,  on  close  inspection,  their  billowy  masses  were 
certainly  made  up  largely  of  heavenly  hosts  and  radi 
ant  cherubim.  For  a  long  distance  the  road  wound 
along  a  lake  shore,  with  well-packed  gravel  under 
wheel  and  trees  meeting  overhead.  The  tree  shadows 
extended  out  over  the  placid  water.  Moored  boats  lay 
with  their  muzzles  toward  shore,  and  out  in  the  center 
was  a  curious  circular  ripple  where  a  dozen  turtles 


180         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

danced,  moving  rapidly  around,  across  and  back,  with 
heads  raised  above  water. 

An  old  mother  muskrat  and  her  little  ratties  were 
diving  in  the  reeds  on  the  shore.  Above  sounded  the 
shrill  cry  of  geese  on  their  southward  journey.  The 
road  itself  was  alive  with  small  game.  Gophers  scooted 
hurriedly  away,  while  over  in  a  meadow  some  small 
foxes  quarreled  over  one  of  their  number.  Scared 
rabbits,  who  failed  to  hear  the  silent  wheel  until  it  was 
upon  them,  sat  by  the  roadside  with  big  eyes  of  alarm. 
A  skunk  prowled  through  the  sedges  on  the  lookout 
for  frogs.  A  queer  object  at  the  foot  of  a  hill  turned 
out  to  be  a  huge  snapping  turtle  with  great  paws  and 
spiked  tail.  Lenox  dismounted  and  gave  him  good 
morning  in  spite  of  his  surly  vindictiveness  of  aspect ; 
but  when  a  hand  came  near  his  tail,  his  head  shot  out 
an  incredible  distance  with  a  vicious  snap,  and  the 
bicyclist  bade  him  farewell  and  sped  on,  feeling  that  to 
go  a-Octobering  is  as  good  in  its  way  as  to  go  a-May- 
ing. 

Gradually  the  trees  grew  denser,  and  then  came  the 
great  woods,  somber  in  the  gray  light  which  blotted 
out  the  rejoicing  dawn,  morose,  with  the  unsympa 
thetic  look  of  hermits  whose  life  is  spent  apart  from 
men.  These  were  the  pines  which  waited  in  solitude 
since  time's  beginning  and  resented  any  encroachment 


THE   MAKING   OF   A   DRUMMER      181 

on  their  privacy  by  the  all-invading  creature  of  two 
legs. 

There  came  a  clearing  of  melancholy  log  huts,  where 
unkempt  stumps  defied  the  native  spirit  of  beauty,  as 
if  they  would  say,  "This  is  the  miserable  pass  to  which 
we  come  when  man  enters  our  sacred  silence !"  Or  it 
might  seem  as  if  some  of  the  chaos  left  over  from  the 
time  of  creation  lay  here  piled  up,  awaiting  the  hour 
when  it  too  should  be  absorbed  by  cosmos. 

On,  on,  led  the  road,  and  with  it  exultant  went 
Lenox,  speeding  like  the  wind  when  it  is  late  for  a 
waterspout  appointment  in  mid-ocean,  until  his  legs 
were  fairly  out  of  breath. 

And  now  there  came  a  clearing  of  larger  dimensions. 
The  straight  polished  steel  of  the  railroad  shot  through 
it,  linking  a  city  of  the  south  to  her  sister  of  the 
north,  separated  from  her  by  this  untamed  woodland. 
The  crash  of  a  waterfall  made  music  on  the  serene 
morning  air,  and  the  faithful  bicycle  slowed  up  in  front 
of  the  white  little  inn  of  Pine  Vale. 


CHAPTER  XII 

CARRYING  THE   TRUTH    TO  THE   WOODS 

One  day,  as  Miss  Vera  Windsor  sat  at  her  desk, 
there  entered  Mrs.  Lyell  who,  with  the  curiosity  of  in 
timacy,  put  her  arm  around  the  girl's  neck  and  peeped 
over  her  shoulder. 

"What  are  you  scribbling  so  fast?"  she  asked. 

Vera  pointed  at  the  little  stack  of  envelopes  lying 
addressed  and  stamped  before  her. 

"I'm  dabbling  in  the  froth  and  scum  of  the  world, 
Madam  Mentor,"  she  said.  "These  are  my  invitations 
to  the  Thanksgiving  ball." 

Now  it  so  happened  that  the  topmost  envelope  of 
the  pile  bore  the  name  of  Mr.  Francis  Lenox,  and 
Mrs.  Lyell  took  it  up  and  looked  at  it  pensively. 

"Don't  you  find  this  kind  of  thing  insufferably 
dull  ?"  she  asked.  "I  mean  putting  on  purple  and  fine 
linen  and  spending  an  evening  dancing  with  men 
with  whom  you  have  not  a  thought  in  common.  I 
often  wonder  why  you  do  so  much  of  it." 

182 


CARRYING  TRUTH  TO  THE  WOODS    183 

"If  you  mean  Mr.  Lenox  by  that,"  said  Miss  Wind 
sor,  a  little  defiantly,  "I  am  sure  that  if  I  knew  him 
better  I  should  have  a  great  many  thoughts  in  com 
mon  with  him.  In  the  little  I  have  seen  of  him  he  im 
presses  me  as  a  clean,  honorable  man,  and  I  like 
him  exceedingly." 

"Is  that  the  reason  you  talk  with  him  the  kind  of 
twaddle  I  heard  you  exchanging  the  other  evening? 
It  evidently  suited  him.  But  surely  you  don't  call 
that  'thought  in  common/  do  you,  Vera?" 

Vera  laughed  lightly. 

"It  was  pleasant  to  watch  you  writhe,  Jean.  I  doubt 
if  I  can  keep  up  to  your  standard." 

"Mr.  Lenox  is  a  materialist." 

"What  is  a  materialist?" 

"A  materialist  is  a  person  who  is  sure  that  we  are 
superior  to  Saint  Paul  because  he  did  not  have  buttons 
on  his  underclothes  and  never  used  a  telephone.  That 
is  the  standard  from  which  a  materialist  measures 
progress." 

"And  you  think  that  is  Mr.  Lenox's  type?" 

"I  think  it  soon  will  be.  He  is  heading  in  that  di 
rection,  and  you  are,  or  at  least  I  hope  you  are,  head 
ing  in  the  other." 

Who  shall  say  that  there  was  not  a  tiny  spark  of  jeal 
ousy  behind  Mrs.  Lyell's  outbreak  ?  Of  late  she  often 


184         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

felt  very  lonely.  The  admiration  of  women  satisfied  her 
less  than  it  had  ever  done,  and  sometimes  she  thought 
of  Vera — different  as  were  their  experiences  and  fate 
— as  her  only  friend.  The  girl,  if  less  subtile,  was 
as  strong,  perhaps  stronger,  than  herself.  Shejeaned 
on  Vera  a  little.  She  must  be  growing  old,  it  felt  so 
agreeable  to  lean  on  some  one.  She  had  always 
thought  that  each  individual  should  stand  alone  in  that 
little  world  which  he  was  to  create  for  himself,  un 
touched,  uninfluenced  by  the  vortex  life  of  those 
around  him;  yet  now  she  dreaded  that  there  might 
be  some  loosening  of  the  tie  that  bound  her  to  this 
girl,  and  she  might  be  left  lonelier  than  ever.  So  she 
went  on. 

"And  a  materialist,  my  dear,  does  not  generally  find 
that  he  has  a  soul  until  just  about  as  it  is  getting  ready 
to  slip  out  of  his  body.  Then  he  begins  to  think  on 
heavenly  matters.  He  sends  for  a  minister  and  begs 
to  be  shown  some  swift  method  of  getting  to  the  top 
of  Jacob's  ladder.  Modern  invention  has  created 
all  kinds  of  rapid  transit,  but  it  never  has  and  it  never 
will  discover  any  way  to  get  to  the  top  of  the  celestial 
ladder  except  by  climbing.  A  man  can't  go  down 
toward  materialism  all  his  life  and  then  find  him 
self,  at  eighty  years  of  age,  at  the  top,  and  just  ready  to 
step  off  into  the  clouds." 


CARRYING  TRUTH  TO  THE  WOODS    185 

"But  for  all  that  I  am  unconvinced  that  the  best 
way  to  smooth  the  transition  from  this  world  to  the 
next  is  to  make  this  one  an  unhealthy  miasmatic  place. 
Why,  isn't  a  normal  life  now  the  best  preparation  for 
the  life  to  come?" 

"It  is,"  said  Mrs.  Lyell.  "You  know  that  is  what 
I  strive  for." 

"And  it  is  just  that  continual  striving,  always  self- 
conscious,  always  walking  around  its  every  experi 
ence,  that  sometimes  looks  to  me  morbid.  If  you  had 
the  making  of  clocks,  Eugenia,  they  would  never  be 
allowed  to  strike  anything  less  than  twelve.  I  have 
recently  begun  to  suspect  that  I  am  another  of  the 
same  kind  as  yourself.  We  do  a  great  deal  of  think 
ing  about  life,  and  comparatively  little  living.  I  am 
afraid  people  will  run  us  two  extremists  out  of  town 
as  a  public  nuisance.  To  prevent  such  a  catastrophe, 
this  clock  is  going,  once  in  a  while,  to  strike  some  of 
the  lesser  hours  in  the  twenty-four,  which,  being  in 
terpreted,  means  I  am  going  to  dance  with  Mr.  Lenox 
and  other  young  men  who  don't  worry  much  about 
their  lungs,  but  just  breathe.  I  like  them,  Jean." 
Vera  spoke  with  decision. 

Mrs.  Lyell  clasped  her  hands  before  her,  and  walked 
over  to  the  fireplace.  She  stood  for  a  moment  look 
ing  into  the  blaze ;  then  she  faced  swiftly  about  and 


1 86        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

came  to  Vera  again.  Her  face  was  pale  and  her  eyes 
were  brimming. 

"My  dear,"  she  began  breathlessly,  "I  am  going  to 
say  to  you  what  I  have  never  whispered  before — 
what  I  "have  hardly  confessed  to  myself.  Once  I 
thought  as  you  do,  I  thought  that  if  a  man  was  clean 
and  honorable  that  was  enough.  For  such  a  man  to 
speak  of  love  was  Elysium.  You  know  what  my  mistake 
cost  me.  You  know  I  live  absolutely  alone,  although 
I  call  Ned  Lyell  my  husband.  When  all  the  new 
ideas  began  to  come  into  my  life,  I  never  even  tried  to 
talk  to  him  about  them.  Silence  fell  between  us.  I  do 
not  know  what  he  thinks  about,  and  I  am  sure  that  if  I 
did  know,  it  would  not  interest  me.  My  relations 
with  him  are  only  an  interruption  to  my  real  life.  We 
eat  and  drink  and  sleep  together,  but  to  him  all  the 
things  that  are  dear  to  me  are  as  though  they  were 
not ;  and  to  me  he  is  one  whose  eyes  are  on  the  earth 
and  who  never  sees  the  stars.  I  remember  the  things 
we  used  to  talk  about.  Nothings.  So  our  bodies  move 
along,  side  by  side,  and  our  souls  have  never,  never 
met." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Vera  rose  and  im 
pulsively  kissed  her. 

"I  think  I  never  minded  it  until  lately.  I  did  not 
tniss  love.  I  was  too  much  occupied  with  other  things. 


CARRYING  TRUTH  TO  THE  WOODS    187 

Perhaps  I  might  have  tried  harder  to  get  it,  if  I  had 
known ;  for  lately— I  don't  know  why,"— a  flush  rose 
to  her  cheeks, — "life  sometimes  looks  very  empty.  I 
don't  want  you  to  make  the  same  mistake.  Now  I 
have  done.  Never  remind  me  that  I  have  said  it.  I 
am  afraid  I  have  only  made  matters  worse  by  formu 
lating  them.  It  is  not  easy  for  him,  either.  If  he  had 
a  wife  who  laughed  and  hadn't  an  idea,  and  thought 
children  were  amusing  playthings,  he  would  be  a  hap 
pier  man.  Nature  punishes  a  mistake  in  marriage 
more  heavily  than  a  crime." 

She  turned  away  and  caught  up  a  book — any  book. 
It  astonished  her  to  find  how  all  this  tore  and  upset 
her.  She  intended  resolutely  to  thrust  her  recent 
experiences  with  Mr.  Kemyss  into  outer  oblivion,  and 
to  live  as  though  they  had  never  been ;  but  her  mem 
ory  mastered  her  will.  These  things  she  could  not  tell 
Vera.  Her  shame,  her  misery,  worst  of  all,  the  un- 
appeased  hunger  which  increased  upon  her  day  by 
day,  she  would  keep  to  herself.  They  did  not  belong 
to  that  serene-faced  girl. 

Vera,  respecting  her  wish  for  silence,  went  back  to 
her  desk,  gathered  her  invitations  and  took  them  to  a 
servant  to  post,  staring  as  she  went  at  the  unlucky 
superscription,  "Mr.  Francis  Lenox,"— the  source  of 
all  this  outbreak.  Fifteen  minutes  later,  when  she 


188         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

came  back,  Mrs.  Lyell  was  moving  about  the  room 
with  her  usual  placid  smile. 

"What  I  really  came  to  speak  of  this  morning,  Vera, 
is  a  new  project  of  mine.  Somewhere  to  the  north  of 
us,  among  the  big  woods  I  should  think,  there  is  a 
little  town  named  Pine  Vale.  And  it  seems  there  are 
fifteen  or  twenty  women  there  who  have  formed  a  club 
to  study  together.  They  have  asked  me  to  come  up 
and  give  them  a  little  talk,  to  start  them  off,  you  know. 
I  propose  to  give  them  a  lecture  on  modern  poetry 
next  week,  and  I  want  you  to  go  with  me.  It  will 
make  the  journey  a  delight  if  we  can  spend  the  time 
together." 

"Indeed  and  indeed,  I  shall  be  more  than  delighted 
to  go  with  you.  How  good  you  are  to  help  people  like 
that,  and  what  a  dear  you  are !" 

So  it  happened  that,  a  week  later,  Vera  walked  im 
patiently  up  and  down  the  waiting  room  of  the  sta 
tion,  looking  anxiously  for  Mrs.  Lyell.  A  common 
place  man,  who  also  walked  the  platform  impatiently, 
caught  her  attention,  because  they  were  evidently  in 
the  same  box,  and  she  watched  with  interest  a  little 
woman  come  hurrying  in  with  a  dress-suit  case  which 
the  man  hastened  to  snatch  as  he  eagerly  kissed  her. 

"I  knew  you'd  get  here  in  time,"  Vera  heard  him 
say,  with  infinite  satisfaction. 


CARRYING  TRUTH  TO  THE  WOODS    189 

The  train  had  long  since  been  called,  and  a  sonorous 
"A-aw-awl  aboard !"  was  echoing  through  the  station, 
as  Mrs.  Lyell  came  hurrying  in  with  her  hat  a  little 
awry.  Vera  snatched  her  hand  in  silence  and  ran.  A 
friendly  brakeman  caught  their  arms  and  deftly  jerked 
them  to  the  moving  platform,  and  they  found  them 
selves  seated  before  they  had  exchanged  a  word. 

The  commonplace  man  Vera  had  noticed  in  the  sta 
tion  sat  in  front  of  them.  She  could  hear  him  volubly 
conversing  with  another  of  his  own  type. 

"Hadn't  an  idea  of  going  north  when  I  came  down 
town  this  morning,  but  I  found  a  telegram  waiting  for 
me.  Only  had  twenty  minutes  to  catch  the  train.  I  tele 
phoned  to  my  wife  to  pack  my  grip  and  meet  me  if 
she  could  catch  me  before  we  pulled  out.  Well,  she 
got  here.  You  bet  she  got  here.  She's  a  trump." 

"It  ain't  any  great  thing  to  bring  a  bag  to  the  sta 
tion,"  said  the  other,  unimpressed. 

"No,  it  ain't  anything  great  by  itself;  only  it's  just 
like  her.  She's  the  kind  that  never  fails  a  feller.  She 
never  failed  me  yet  in  anything  big  or  little.  She  is 
the  whole  deck." 

Vera  began  to  take  a  real  interest  in  the  little 
woman;  but  by  this  time  she  had  gained  her  breath, 
and  she  turned  on  Mrs.  Lyell. 

"It  is  fortunate  I  bought  our  tickets  and  seats  in  the 


190         THE    PRIZE   TO    THE    HARDY 

Pullman.  I  thought  you  were  surely  going  to  miss 
it." 

Mrs.  Lyell  laughed  easily. 

"People  shouldn't  write  such  interesting  books,"  she 
said.  "I  was  deep  in  Newness,  and  I  meant  to  have 
brought  it  with  me,  for  I  want  you  to  read  it,  too — 
one  of  those  books  of  pure  inspiration.  We  are  for 
tunate  in  having  so  many  of  them  nowadays.  You 
remember  Xenophon  or  Herodotus — or  who  was  it  ? — 
never  mind — telling  of  Xerxes'  remark  that  circum 
stances  rule  men,  and  not  men  circumstances?  Well, 
this  writer  shows  how  the  progress  of  civilization  is 
the  conquest  by  man  of  the  world  outside  of  him 
self, — how  more  and  more  he  rules  circumstances  in 
stead  of  circumstances  ruling  him.  It  is  just  in  ac 
cord  with  my  idea,  that  when  we  have  wholly  mastered 
the  material  world  it  is  to  us  as  if  it  were  not.  We 
can  afford  to  ignore  it.  We  are  really  the  creators 
of  a  new  world." 

"Goodness,  Jean,"  Vera  interrupted  irrelevantly, 
"what  is  the  matter  with  your  dress?  It's  all  torn 
around  the  facing." 

"Dear  me,  so  it  is !"  She  looked  down  in  amused 
dismay.  "You  see  I  was  reading  up  to  the  last  mo 
ment,  and  I  quite  forgot  the  time,  so  I  had  to  dress 
in  a  great  hurry.  And  just  as  I  was  hastily  packing 


CARRYING  TRUTH   TO  THE  WOODS    191 

my  bag,  I  ran  a  needle  into  my  finger.  I  am  afraid 
that  is  what  has  made  this  horrid  blood-stain  on  my 
sleeve.  And  then  I  had  to  hurry  for  a  car,  and  just 
as  I  was  getting  in  I  found,  to  my  dismay,  that  I  had 
forgotten  my  gloves.  I  hope  you  have  an  extra  pair 
with  you  that  you  can  lend  me ;  and  I  suppose  I  must 
have  stepped  on  my  dress  and  torn  the  binding." 

"You  ought  to  have  let  me  call  for  you,  as  I  pro 
posed.  Have  you  another  dress  in  your  case?"  Vera 
asked  anxiously.  "You  can't  get  up  and  speak  to 
those  women  with  your  dress  stained  and  torn." 

"I'm  afraid  I  haven't.  I  brought  only  my  night 
things." 

"Well,  perhaps  we  can  get  your  dress  mended ;  and 
I  have  another  silk  waist  that  may  do.  If  it  won't 
fasten  around  you  perhaps  we  can  pin  it  and  put  some 
lace  in  front,"  said  Vera  sadly.  Then  she  could  not 
restrain  her  laughter. 

"Jean,"  she  said,  "don't  you  think  you  would  have 
mastered  circumstances  better  this  time,  if  you  had 
got  ready  a  little  earlier?" 

Mrs.  Lyell  answered  her  laugh  with  unruffled  good- 
humor,  which  showed  her  self-poise  undisturbed. 

"You've  rather  caught  me,  haven't  you?  But  I 
dare  say  I  shall  do  very  well." 

"Perhaps,   thanks   to    my   extra   waist,"   Vera   an- 


192         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

swered  laconically.  But  in  her  heart  of  hearts  she 
knew  that  her  friend  would  do  very  well.  What  mat 
tered  a  frayed  skirt,  when  Eugenia  faced  her  audi 
ence  ?  Vera  seemed  to  see  the  pathetic  faces,  as  she  had 
seen  them  before,  the  faces  of  women  whose  lives  had 
been  hard-worked  and  half-starved  and  who  now,  in 
middle  age,  awoke  to  the  craving  that  was  in  them 
for  something  better.  They  were  pathetic  because  they 
could  never  get  it — because  nothing  that  comes  later 
compensates  for  the  atmosphere  of  childhood. 

There  was  once  a  woman  who  sat  down  one  after 
noon  and  read,  for  the  first  time,  the  whole  of 
Macaulay's  Lays,  with  the  foot-notes  and  the  prefa 
tory  chapters  which  explained  their  allusions  and 
pointed  out  their  excellences.  When  she  had  finished 
her  task,  she  said,  "Well,  really  I  can  not  see  how 
these  poems  have  gained  their  reputation.  I  find  them 
wearisome."  And  the  man  who,  when  he  was  ten 
years  old,  had  learned  Horatius  by  heart,  and  stamped 
up  and  down  his  room  roaring  it  at  the  top  of  his 
passionate  young  lungs,  with  swingings  of  arms  and 
legs,  and  with  desperate  lunges  with  unseen  swords, 
the  man  opened  his  lips  to  answer,  but  shut  them 
again.  And  there  was  once  a  little  girl  who  lay  flat 
on  her  small  stomach  upon  the  grass  under  an  apple- 
tree,  and  saw  Una  with  her  lion,  saw  the  host  of  false 


CARRYING  TRUTH   TO  THE  WOODS    193 

Duessa,  saw  all  those  rainbow-hued  creatures,  half- 
man,  half-fairy,  pass  in  shadowy  beauty  before  the 
thicket  of  greenery  that  hedged  her  in.  She  skipped 
the  words  she  did  not  know  and  it  never  even  oc 
curred  to  her  to  wonder  which  character  represented 
Queen  Elizabeth,  and  which  Sir  Philip.  But  dragons 
stained  the  grass  with  their  blood,  enchantresses 
slipped  their  magic  mantles  and  stood  revealed  in 
unimagined  hideousness,  heroes  fought  and  shouted 
and  clashed  swords  to  rescue  maidens  with  flowing 
hair,  right  there  where  the  little  clenched  hand  could 
have  reached  out  and  touched  them.  No  college  stu 
dent,  cramming  his  Spenser  and  analyzing  the  alle 
gory,  ever  saw  that  aerial  vision. 

There  is  infinite  pathos  about  those  who,  having 
missed  the  vision  splendid  in  their  youth,  are  trying 
to  reproduce  its  misty  elusiveness  in  the  common  light 
of  day.  Pity  those  who  did  not  get  the  luscious  ro 
mance  of  the  Eve  of  St.  Agnes  while  romance  still 
pulsed  in  their  own  blood,  but  now  listen  in  a  closed 
room  to  a  lecture  on  Keats.  In  mature  years  that  be 
comes  a  mere  crust  of  information  which  to  the  child 
is  the  heart  of  life. 

So  these  women  would  look  at  this  Eugenia,  with  her 
big  luminous  eyes,  her  particularly  soft  skin  and  her 
mobile  tremulous  mouth,  with  something  between  ad- 


194        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

oration  and  envy.  She  was  an  illumination,  because 
she  was  steeped  in  light,  but  somehow  she  made  their 
darkness  more  visible  to  themselves.  They  could 
never  attain  to  that  wealth  of  thought  and  experience 
that  was  second  nature  to  her.  To  awaken  this  emo 
tion  was  Mrs.  Lyell's  mission  to  her  sex. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

PINE  VALE 

After  the  desolate  villages  thrown  together  on  the 
plain,  Pine  Vale  looked  fair  indeed  to  Lenox's  eyes.  It 
was  a  cheerful  little  town  with  a  touch  of  New  England 
refinement  and  New  England  comfort  brought  west 
ward  with  the  village  that  had  migrated  in  a  solid 
body  from  the  old  home,  bringing  with  it  the  school 
master  and  the  minister  along  with  wives,  babies  and 
stock.  It  seemed  better,  after  all,  to  feel  a  little 
crowded,  to  live  in  a  valley,  cut  by  a  stream  that  made 
a  great  noise  about  its  work  of  carving  out  rock  and 
stone,  that  splashed  and  laughed  and  surged,  drown 
ing  out  the  softer  swishing  of  the  pines. 

It  rested  Frank's  spirit  to  light  on  a  spot  where 
thrift  mingled  with  repose.  It  was  like  a  touch  of 
home  after  the  indifference  to  beauty,  the  barn-yard 
hugging  the  front  door,  of  the  average  foreign-born 
settler.  That  was  a  life  where  crops  alone  counted, 
and  where  sweet  content  and  home  delight  were  not 

195 


196        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

reckoned— the  peasant  point  of  view,  -  imported  and 
Americanized  by  craze  for  the  almighty  dollar.  And 
yet,  perhaps  Lenox  judged  too  quickly,  mindful,  as 
men  are  apt  to  be,  of  the  phase  which  he  saw,  and  not 
of  that  which  lay  before  and  of  that  which  is  to  come 
hereafter.  In  another  generation,  when  the  little  Ole 
and  Christina  are  taking  prizes  in  the  schools  for  En 
glish  composition,  new  ideals  of  life  begin  to  creep  in. 

Of  all  the  wonderful  energies  of  this  good  land, 
there  is  none  greater  than  that  by  which,  in  her  vi 
tality,  she  transforms  men  of  all  bloods  of  the  earth 
into  Americans,  whose  children  sing,  "Land  where  my 
fathers  died,"  with  the  same  confidence  as  those  whose 
ancestors  fought  at  Bunker  Hill.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
the  voice  of  a  woman  singing  John  Brown  s  Body  in 
the  kitchen  of  a  tiny  cottage  next  to  the  hotel,  almost 
brought  tears  to  Lenox's  eyes.  The  song  seemed  to 
stand  for  all  that  was  born  in  him,  and  lay  nearest 
to  his  heart. 

Breakfast  at  Valkyrie  was  already  a  matter  of  an 
cient  history,  and  the  appetite  of  the  pines  and  the 
plains  combined  was  upon  him,  but  even  as  he  turned 
toward  the  white-curtained  door  that  bore  the  alluring 
word,  "Restaurant,"  a  big  wagon  came  whirling  down 
the  street.  Two  horses,  evidently  just  making  up 
their  minds  and  spirits  for  a  runaway,  pounded  wildly 


PINE   VALE  197 

along.  A  string  of  packages,  a  broken  bag  of  flour 
belching  forth  its  unhappy  contents,  flying  apples  and 
demoralized  bananas  strewed  the  road.  Behind  them, 
rushing  from  the  store,  came  a  burly  farmer,  snorting 
and  puffing,  and  pouring  forth  a  string  of  oaths  meant 
to  appal  the  imagination  of  the  steeds,  whether  they 
considered  themselves  Swedish  or  American.  Lenox 
sprang  at  the  horses'  heads  and  hung  on.  He  was  bat 
tered  back  and  forth,  and  banged  behind  and  before, 
but  his  grip  held.  Gradually  the  team  slowed  up  and 
he  found  himself  glad  to  put  one  foot  gingerly  to  the 
earth.  The  puffing  man  of  flesh  drew  near,  waving 
great  red  hands  like  the  flappers  of  a  windmill,  but 
his  face  now  beamed  with  rosy  sweat. 

"Dam  horses,  Ay  tank  Ay  kill  dam !"  he  gasped  ex 
citedly. 

"Why,  man,  they're  splendid  horses!  It's  the  best 
team  I've  seen  since  I  came  to  Minnesota.  You  don't 
think  any  the  worse  of  them  for  having  some  blood 
in  them,  do  you?"  said  Lenox. 

"You  bat!  Ay  gif  more  for  dam  horses  dan  anny 
man  in  Minturn!  Shake  hands,  young  fallar.  You 
know  a  good  horse  van  you  sees  him.  An'  you  stop 
him  too!"  he  roared  with  mingled  appreciation  of  his 
own  wit  and  admiration  of  his  horses.  "Ay  mooch 
tank  you.  You  coom  vit  me.  You  must  ban  tirsty." 


I98        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

"Thank  you,  I'm  not  so  much  thirsty  as  hungry.  I 
think  I'll  try  for  food  rather  than  drink,"  said  Frank. 

"Foot !  Vat  is  foot  ?  A  man  only  eats  stuff  so  as 
to  keep  hamself  alife  so  hay  can  drink.  Hay?  You 
bat!" 

The  amiable  stranger  gave  Frank  a  ponderous  dig. 

"You  are  evidently  a  man  who  thinks,"  said  Lenox. 

"Ay  know  vat  Ay  know.  You  stop  my  horses ;  Ay 
gif  you  trink." 

Frank,  suspecting  that  this  was  the  long-sought 
Sven,  followed  in  his  steps. 

"I  wonder  if  your  name  happens  to  be  Sven  Sven- 
son,"  he  began  as  they  picked  up  the  parcels  in  com 
pany. 

"Coom  now,  young  fallar,  no  yokin'.  You  know 
pooty  well,  af  my  name  ban  Ole  Olson  nor  Petar 
Petarson,  it  got  to  ban  Sven  Svenson.  Don't  you  gat 
funny." 

The  broad  honest  face  now1  wore  quite  a  belligerent 
look.  No  man  likes  to  have  his  name  bandied  lightly 
about. 

"You  are  quite  mistaken,  Mr.  Svenson.  I'm  not  in 
clined  to  joke.  I  guessed  it  because  I  was  told  that 
Svenson  was  the  best  farmer  in  Minturn,  and  I  thought 
by  the  looks  of  those  horses  of  yours  that  you 
must  be  the  man  I  was  looking  for." 


PINE   VALE  199 

At  the  mention  of  the  horses,  good  humor  was  re 
stored.  A  ponderous  hand  slapped  him  on  the  back. 

"Af  dar  ban  annyting  Ay  lak,  it  ban  a  horse.  Back 
in  ol'  country,  Ay  use  look  at  anny  man  vat  gat  a 
horse  and  vish  Ay  gat  van  too*.  Dat  vas  van  Ay  ban 
yoost  leetle  fallar.  Ay  nefer  tank  dan  Ay  afer  own  a 
spankin'  big  team  lak  dat." 

The  big  Swede  was  so  fresh  and  wholesome  that 
Lenox  yielded  to  his  charms  at  once.  It  was  impos 
sible  to  see  him  expand  his  wide  mouth  and  show  his 
huge  white  teeth  without  smiling  in  return.  He  had 
the  shrewdness  of  the  Yankee,  but  not  his  energy,  for 
this  man's  vigor  was  not  nervous,  but  of  the  phleg 
matic  Norse  kind  that  wins  its  way  by  doggedness, 
Frank  prolonged  the  drink  he  did  not  want,  to  listen 
to  his  serene  good  sense  and  to  learn  many  new  things. 
In  half  an  hour  they  were  old  friends ;  but  Lenox  so 
entirely  forgot  business  that  it  startled  him  when 
Svenson  rose,  or  rather  lifted  his  huge  person,  and 
returned  to  his  muttons.  Then  the  grain  man  reap 
peared. 

Before  the  interview  closed,   Svenson  said: 

"Vail,  you  ban  pooty  goot  fallar.  Ay  ain't  got 
mooch  use  for  most  of  dase  man  vat  coom  to  me 
about  grain.  Day  are  too  slick.  Day  tank  day  know 
all  about  business,  and  us  farmers  is  yoost  vaitin'  to 


200        THE    PRIZE    TO   THE   HARDY 

haf  dam  pull  vool  ofer  our  eyes.  Day  know  too 
mooch.  Ay  lak  to  do  business  vit  you  because  you 
don't  tank  you  know  a  whole  heap  more  dan  the  naxt 
fallar.  You  hold  up  my  horses,  perhaps  you  can 
hold  up  price  of  my  wheat."  He  particularly  en 
joyed  Frank's  appreciation  of  his  wit. 

"Ay  ban  shippin'  to  van  of  dase  big  firms.  Day  gat 
awful  rich  out  of  us  farmers,  dase  fallars.  Ay  yoost 
try  a  little  firm  lak  yours,  dat  hasn't  gat  big-had  so 
mooch." 

Lenox  winked,  lest  in  some  way  Svenson  should 
read  the  name  of  Windsor  in  his  guilty  eyes. 

Half-starved,  but  happy,  at  noon  he  sought  the 
hotel  with  a  feeling  that  Uncle  Remus  would  describe 
as  "complacy."  Svenson  was  not  only  the  owner  of  a 
bonanza  farm,  but  also  the  president  of  a  farmers'  ele 
vator  company  that  could  pour  thousands  of  bushels 
into  the  open  hands  of  the  company  of  St.  Pierre. 
Lenox  felt  that  he  had  this  day  done  his  first  big 
"stroke"  of  business — so  big  that  it  insured  the  suc 
cess  of  his  whole  trip.  He  was  entitled  to  an  hour 
of  repose  and  a  serene  smoke.  He  realized  of  a  sud 
den  that  an  hour  of  quiet  was  a  thing  he  had  not  had 
since  the  train  deposited  him  on  the  platform  at  Mexico. 
He  recalled  with  some  amusement  Lyell's  description 
of  the  strenuous  life  of  the  traveling  man.  And  there 


PINE   VALE  201 

before  him,  by  the  commonest  of  coincidences,  sat  the 
man  to  whom  his  thoughts  were  that  moment  return 
ing.  Lyell  was  contentedly  eating  true  New  England 
baked  beans,  served  by  a  lank,  pleasant-visaged  Ver 
mont  woman. 

Lenox  strode  across  the  room  with  his  face  aglow. 
The  bean-devourer  looked  like  an  old  friend. 

"It  does  my  heart  good  to  see  a  man  whose  name 
does  not  end  in  'son,'  "  he  exclaimed. 

"So,  so,  my  lad,  you've  exhausted  the  fascinations 
of  the  Viking  breed  already?" 

Ah,  how  good  boiled  beef  and  cabbage  after  the 
leathern  steak  of  the  prairie,  and  how  agreeable  the 
nasal  twang  of  the  waitress ! 

"You  and  I  are  both  a  little  out  of  our  beaten  track, 
aren't  we?"  asked  Lyell.  "Have  you  gone  into  lum 
ber  instead  of  grain?" 

"No,  but  I  have  gone  after  the  lumber  man !"  Lenpx 
laughed  and  opened  up  his  most  recent  chapter  of 
history.  Lyell  watched  his  eager  face  and  warmed  to 
him. 

"I  know  your  man,"  he  said.  "He's  the  good  healthy 
sort,  whose  blood  strengthens  our  national  sinews. 
I'm  glad  you've  got  hold  of  him.  I'm  glad  you  are 
making  a  success  of  yourself.  I  might  have  known 
you  would,"  he  added  thoughtfully.  "I  might  have 


202         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

known  you  would.  You've  got  the  right  mixture  in 
you." 

"What  do  you  think  is  the  recipe  for  me?"  Lenox 
asked,  amused. 

"Pluck  plus  joy,  my  lad.  It's  all  right.  I'm  glad  to 
count  you  as  a  friend."  He  put  out  his  hand  and  the 
young  man  took  it  warmly,  flushing  with  pleasure. 

"Come  now,"  he  said,  "return  my  confidences.  Why 
are  you  in  Pine  Vale?" 

"If  you  knew,  you'd  call  me  a  fool,  so  I  think  I'll 
keep  it  to  myself." 

"You  just  called  me  a  friend.  Do  you  think  it  is  the 
part  of  friendship  to  call  another  a  fool?" 

Lyell  smoked  in  silence  for  a  moment,  then  he 
looked  up  with  an  expression  of  self-abandonment. 

"I'll  tell  you,  fool  or  no  fool,"  he  said.  "I  came  to 
see  my  wife." 

"Why,  is  she  here?" 

"I  picked  up  a  copy  of  the  St.  Etienne  News  the 
other  day  and  saw  that,  she  was  to  speak  here  to-day. 
That's  the  way  I  hear  of  her  movements,"  he  said  a 
little  bitterly.  "And  the  sight  of  her  name  and  the 
thought  of  her  set  me  crazy  to  see  her.  That's  the 
kind  of  an  idiot  I  am,  though  she  gave  me  her  cheek 
and  not  her  lips  to  kiss  when  I  came  away." 

There  was  another  long  pause.     Lenox  felt  ill  at 


PINE   VALE  205 

ease,  and  very  inexperienced  in  the  ways  of  husbands 
and  wives. 

"She  needn't  see  me,"  said  Lyell  at  length. 

"But  why  shouldn't  she?" 

"She  thinks  I  am  as  indifferent  to  her  as  she  is  to 
me,  and  her  very  coldness  makes  it  impossible  for  me 
to  tell  her  otherwise.  But  she  needn't  know  that  I've 
crept  here  like  a  whipped  dog,  just  to  catch  a  glimpse 

of  her." 
"Nonsense!  Go  and  make  yourself  agreeable.   She'l 

take  it  for  granted  that  you're  here  on  business,  and 
she'll  be  glad  to  see  your  familiar  face.  She'll  like 
it  if  you  can  do  something  to  entertain  her  in  this 
dull  little  hole.  That's  what  I'd  do,"  said  Lenox. 

"I  dare  say  you  would,  though  I  believe  every  man 
is  desperately  afraid  of  the  woman  he  loves— at  least 
until  he  is  sure  that  she  loves  him.  But  it's  your  na 
ture  to  make  every  hole  that  has  an  opportunity  in  it 
a  little  larger,  and  it's  my  nature  to  make  it  smaller. 
I'm  an  onlooker  and  not  a  doer.  I  ought  to  be  any 
where  except  in  the  West  soliciting  grain,  and  I  ought 
to  be  anything  and  everything  except  the  husband  of 
Jean  Lyell." 

"Well,  try  my  method  this  time." 
"Perhaps  I  will.     It's  done  me  good  to  talk  to  you 
anyway.     I  have  never  managed  to  say  so  much  be- 


204         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

fore.  Everybody  knows  the  situation  too  well,  but 
you — well,  it  was  easier  to  speak  to  a  man  who  didn't 
know." 

The  two  men  lingered  long  in  the  cleanly  little 
smoking-room,  not  saying  much,  but  enjoying  the 
sense  of  companionship  with  their  own  kind.  They 
were  startled  by  the  entrance  of  a  tall  girl  with  a 
lamp.  She  looked  singularly  gray  and  ghastly.  Lenox 
started  in  dismay. 

"Is  it  so  late  ?"  he  cried.  "I  ought  to  have  taken  the 
afternoon  train.  Have  I  missed  it?" 

"It's  not  late,  sir."  He  saw  by  his  watch  that  she 
spoke  truly. 

"But  it's  so  dark.  I  thought  maybe  you'd  like  a 
light.  Do  you  suppose  there's  something  wrong?  Do 
you  think  we're  going  to  have  a  cyclone?" 

Her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper  at  the  last  words,  and 
she  lingered,  evidently  glad  of  an  excuse  to  keep  near 
to  company. 

Lenox  and  Lyell  moved  together  to  the  window. 
The  whole  world  seemed  to  have  turned  to  a  somber 
gray  that  was  almost  brown.  A  deep,  deep  hush  lay 
on  everything.  Only  an  occasional  spurt  of  wind 
licked  up  the  dust  and  sent  it  flying  in  a  long  swirl 
down  the  street.  The  silence  of  the  outer  world  fell 
on  the  two  men  and  the  girl.  It  was  impossible  to 


PINE   VALE  205 

speak.  Their  tongues  dried  to  the  tops  of  their 
mouths,  and  their  limbs  grew  tense  and  rigid,  as  they 
stood  at  the  window  motionless.  Terror,  vague  and 
unreasoning,  held  them.  Lyell  swallowed  a  lump  with 
difficulty,  and  spoke  with  an  effort,  in  a  voice  that 
came  from  miles  away.  "There's  certainly  nothing 
cyclonic  about  this." 

The  hush  grew  more  oppressive,  and  the  air  murk 
ier  and  heavier.  Their  heart-beats  suffocated  them. 
A  long  shriek  of  wind  rose  and  fell  on  the  silence; 
and  behind  it,  with  whirling  gown  and  uplifted  hand 
that  gleamed  an  unearthly  white  in  the  dusky  air,  there 
blew  a  Roman  Catholic  priest. 

"If  you  love  your  lives,  save  them !"  His  voice  was 
clear  and  steady  as  a  bell,  but  instinct  with  terror. 

"To  the  river !  To  the  river !  Leave  all  you  have ! 
The  forest  is  on  fire !" 

The  rapt  heroic  face  swept  on,  and  the  sonorous 
tones  echoed  back,  "Run  to  the  river!  Leave  every 
thing!" 

And  now  where  had  been  silence  was  pandemonium. 
A  great  tongue  of  flame  leaped  from  the  clouds  and 
lit  the  world  in  an  instant's  glare  more  hideous  than 
darkness.  The  sky  which  had  been  brown  was  of 
blood.  Then  a  blinding  fog  of  smoke  shut  out  the 
universe.  Another  instant  and  the  very  firmament 


206        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

reeled  and  crashed.  Great  balls  of  fire  shot  out  of 
nowhere  and  exploded  in  a  rain  of  lights  as  though 
the  heavens  were  cannonading  the  earth.  With  a 
rumble  as  though  an  invisible  express  train  were  pass 
ing  overhead,  the  wind  rose,  roaring,  shrieking,  wail 
ing;  and  off  to  the  southwest,  far  to  left  and  far  to 
right,  an  angry  red  glare  flamed  out  its  menace — that 
mighty  army  of  fire,  of  which  the  snarling  spheres  were 
but  the  van. 

Before  they  knew  that  they  had  moved,  the  men 
found  themselves  in  the  street.  The  horror  had  come 
so  quickly  that  it  had  almost  taken  away  the  power  of 
thought ;  but,  led  by  an  animal-like  instinct,  the  whole 
population  of  the  little  town  was  out  of  doors,  sweep 
ing  downward  toward  the  river,  a  half-crazed  train  of 
souls,  like  one  of  Dante's  mournful  bands,  fleeing, 
with  cries  that  rose  above  the  whirlwind,  before  the 
din  of  storm.  Women  covered  their  eyes  as  they  ran, 
to  shut  out  fate.  Faces  looked  white,  even  in  the  red 
air.  Lenox  seized  a  child,  half-trampled  by  the  mad 
throng.  Before  an  open  door  stood  a  tall  man  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He  looked  out  coolly  at  the 
hurrying  figures  and  his  calmness  brought  the  fugi 
tives  to  an  instant's  halt. 

A  frightened  wife  peered  over  his  shoulder  and 
made  some  desperate  effort  to  push  him  before  her. 


FINE    VALE  207 

"Keep  still,  Hannah.  We  aren't  in  any  danger. 
There's  plenty  of  water  in  the  butts,"  he  said. 

"Howard,"  some  one  called,  "ain't  you  goin'  to  the 
water?  The  town  will  be  afire  in  a  minute !" 

"The  town  is  perfectly  safe.  The  country  is  cleared 
all  about  us.  Your  own  homes  are  the  safest  places  you 
can  find."  But  his  last  words  were  screamed  at  the 
backs  of  those  who  would  not  wait  for  argument  but 
were  dashing  madly  on. 

In  the  middle  of  the  road  the  crowd  divided  around 
a  wagon,  and  on  the  farther  side  Lenox  found  his  new 
friend,  Svenson,  loosening  his  big  team.  The  horses 
kicked  and  plunged,  but  the  good  farmer  willingly 
risked  his  own  life,  rather  than  lose  his  most  precious 
possessions. 

"Here,  Lyell,  take  this  baby!"  shouted  Lenox. 
"Now,  Svenson,  whip  off  your  coat  and  tie  it  over  your 
horse's  head  so  that  he  can't  see !"  He  was  pulling  off 
his  own  as  he  spoke,  and  in  an  instant  the  two  beasts 
followed  their  master's  guiding  hand  as  he  glanced 
fearfully  above  him  and  behind  him,  but  never  re 
laxed  his  vigilance,  picking  his  way  and  theirs  down 
the  rough  bank,  where  men,  women,  and  children  were 
slipping  and  tumbling  into  the  blessed  safety  of  cold 
water.  The  banks  were  abrupt  and  jagged  with  stones, 
they  were  slippery  with  moss  and  fern,  but  no  one 


208         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE    HARDY 

stopped  to  consider  bruises.  Here  the  stream  lay  in 
smooth  stretches,  there  in  deep  pools,  and  beyond  it 
whirled  and  eddied.  It  made  no  difference,  so  long  as 
one  got  into  the  flood. 

Lenox  was  struggling  under  the  weight  of  a  second 
child  who  clung,  half-strangling  him,  about  his  neck, 
and  the  mother  beside  him,  carrying  her  baby,  be 
sought  him  in  anguish : 

"You  won't  drop  him,  will  you,  sir?  I  don't  know 
where  my  husband  is.  He  would  take  the  children. 
But  you  won't  let  the  boy  go,  will  you,  sir  ?" 

"If  I  get  there  alive  myself,  the  boy  shall  get  there, 
too,"  he  answered  shortly. 

A  woman,  whose  strength  had  failed  her,  hung,  a 
dead  weight  upon  his  arm.  She  opened  her  eyes  as 
the  chill  of  the  waters  struck  her,  and  he  dragged  her 
into  midstream. 

"Don't  faint!"  he  shouted  in  her  ear.  "You  may 
drown !" 

"Ah,  but  my  children !"  she  moaned,  "they  were  at 
school  when  it  came  and  I  was  afraid  to  go  back  for 
them !  My  little  babies  ! — and  my  man !" 

She  stood  rigid  in  the  water,  with  eyes  closed,  lost 
in  intolerable  anguish.  Lenox  pushed  her  up  against 
a  stone,  to  shelter  her  against  the  strength  of  the  cur 
rent  which  swept  along  with  considerable  speed. 


PINE   VALE  209 

A  man  with  two  tots  in  his  arms,  and  a  third  drag 
ging  at  his  coat,  made  careful  haste  down  the  bank, 
but  at  the  water's  edge  the  child  on  foot  halted  and 
let  go  her  hold. 

"Lena,  Lena !"  cried  the  father.  "Come  to  the  water, 
— come !  Look,  I  am  holding  little  Jack  and  Nora  to 
keep  them  safe.  I  have  not  a  hand  to  pull  you  in.  Come 
yourself." 

But  Lena  sobbed  and  looked  back,  and  feared  the 
rushing  stream  at  her  feet  more  than  the  fire  that  had 
not  yet  reached  her. 

"Mind  me,  Lena.  Come  at  once."  The  father's 
voice  was  harsh  with  imperative,  fearful  love. 

A  gust  of  bitter  smoke  swept  down,  and  the  faces 
peeping  above  the  stream  gasped  and  fought  for 
breath.  They  plunged  under  the  flood  for  relief  from 
the  sting,  and  came  up  again  for  relief  from  suffoca 
tion. 

A  man  came  running  from  the  opposite  side  of  the 
river,  threw  himself  with  a  mad  splash  in  midstream, 
and,  fairly  gasping  in  the  intensity  of  his  fear,  paddled 
rapidly  from  one  group  to  another. 

"My  wife!  Has  anybody  seen  my  wife?"  he  asked 
afresh,  not  waiting  for  the  reply  which  his  own  hag 
gard  eyes  could  give  him.  He  drew  off  by  himself, 
teeth  chattering,  eyes  glaring,  mouth  set  in  rigid  seams. 


210        THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

A  shout  of  something  that  sounded  like  triumph 
rose  from  the  miserable  water-girded  refugees.  Look 
ing  shoreward,  Lenox  saw  a  young  woman  driving 
before  her  a  herd  of  children.  Like  silly  sheep  they 
ran,  without  knowing  why  or  where,  crying,  stum 
bling  ;  and  with  arms  outspread,  she  ran  behind,  while 
a  big  collie  bounded  around,  barking  furiously  as  he 
rounded  in  the  flock  and  kept  them  in  a  compact  mass. 
The  school-mistress'  face  was  that  of  a  madonna.  Oc 
casionally  she  dashed  at  some  burning  scrap  of  dress, 
and  tore  it  from  the  running  child.  Sobs  of  ecstasy 
rose  from  the  stream,  as  eager  hands  reached  out  and 
dragged  the  helpless  children  in. 

The  flabby  creature,  leaning  on  Lenox's  arm,  opened 
her  eyes  and  a  flash  of  color  swept  over  her  face.  In 
an  instant  she  was  caressing,  under  water,  the  bodies 
of  two  mites,  whose  faces,  streaked  with  soot,  were  to 
her  eyes  beautiful  above  those  of  the  angels.  "Nero! 
Nero!"  called  the  father,  who  plead  in  vain  with  his 
little  girl.  The  dog  turned  his  friendly  eyes. 

"Bring  Lena  into  the  water !   Good  dog !" 

The  faithful  collie,  with  singed  fur,  made  again  f-or 
the  bank,  caught  the  little  dress,  and  dragged  the  child 
to  safety,  keeping,  after  he  got  her  there,  a  tight  grip 
on  her  clothes,  while  he  blinked  encouragement  at  her. 

Farther  up  stream,  near  the  waterfall,  a  man  came 


PINE   VALE  2ir 

running  out  of  the  woodland,  his  hand  laid  on  the 
neck  of  a  doe,  which,  in  the  hour  of  peril,  had  forgot 
ten  her  natural  fears,  and  sought  companionship  in 
danger.  Man  and  beast  tumbled  in  together. 

"Great  heavens!  Even  the  tamarack  swamps  are 
afire.  I  thought  they  were  safe.  I've  been  running  over 
burning  logs  as  if  they  were  sidewalks.  I  don't  know 
whether  my  feet  are  burned  off  or  not." 

"It  is  the  Day  of  Judgment,"  said  a  solemn  voice  be 
hind.  "This  isn't  just  a  forest  fire.  Look  at  those  balls 
of  light  flying  through  the  air.  God  is  destroying  the 
world  for  its  iniquities.  This  is  our  last  hour  on  earth. 
We  shall  soon  be  face  to  face  with  Him !" 

A  family  huddled  in  a  back  eddy  started  a  hymn  in 
high  quavering  voices.  To  most  men  God  never  seems 
so  near  as  when  His  hand  is  lifted  in  menace. 

"There  goes  Howard's  house !"  cried  a  voice.  "His 
water-butts  didn't  save  him !" 

Sobs  and  prayers  and  cries  for  mercy  rose  from  the 
water,  and  the  shrill  hymn  added  a  weird  terror  to 
pain. 

The  smoke  drifted  in  streaks,  and  when  it  came  there 
was  silence,  except  for  gasps.  When  it  passed  there 
was  air  to  breathe  once  more,  though  air  that  stung 
and  burned. 

From  the  town,  mingled  with  savage  hissings,  came 


212         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

the  dying  wails  of  those  who,  trusting  to  the  clearing 
around  them,  started  too  late,  only  to  stumble  and  fall, 
never  to  rise. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CAUGHT 

"The  train — look !  The  train  from  the  south !"  was 
shouted  in  Lenox's  ear. 

Instantly  every  eye  was  turned  down  stream  to 
watch  a  new  drama  in  the  fight  between  death  and 
man's  courage  and  presence  of  mind.  A  skeleton-like 
railroad  bridge  of  steel  spanned  the  river  just  where 
the  banks  grew  most  narrow  and  precipitous.  On  the 
south  side  there  was  no  possibility  of  crawling  down 
the  steep  rocks.  The  roadway  by  which  the  villagers 
had  escaped  their  doom  was  too  far  from  the  track  for 
those  in  the  train  to  hope  to  reach  it  in  the  face  of  the 
flame,  but  on  the  farther  northern  bank  a  few  ragged 
projections  made  something  like  a  pathway.  The 
northward-bound  express,  cut  off  from  retreat  by  an 
unexpected  arm  of  fire,  now  sped  forward,  stopping 
as  long  as  it  dared  at  each  tiny  woodland  station  to 
pick  up  the  frenzied  wretches  who  rushed  toward  it 
as  their  only  means  of  escape.  Now  it  was  black  and 

213 


214        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

crowded,  and  the  flames  had  gained  upon  it,  until 
further  flight  was  out  of  the  question.  The  whirling- 
fire  reached  to  heaven,  and  the  earth  seemed  dyed  in 
blood.  The  very  sides  of  the  cars  burst  out  here  and 
there  with  the  red  horror,  or  grew  ominously  black 
and  charred. 

Inside  those  chariots  of  destruction  reigned  the  an 
guish  of  the  damned :  there  were  prayers  and  oaths  and 
frozen  silences.  Those  on  their  knees  were  in  danger 
of  being  trampled  upon  by  others  whom  fear  drove  to 
pacing  frenzy,  like  that  of  a  tiger  in  a  cage.  If  only 
all  the  energy  of  the  mad  passengers  could  be  put  into 
the  engine,  which  already  strained  its  every  nerve  in 
the  race ! 

Amid  smoke  and  cinders,  with  now  and  again  a 
glimpse  of  a  great  whirl  of  flame,  the  train  plowed  its 
way  through  the  stifling  heat.  Sometimes  it  quivered 
and  rocked  as  it  passed  over  a  shaking  culvert ;  some 
times  it  lurched  over  a  fallen  branch  of  fire,  righted 
itself  resolutely,  and  sped  ever  on. 

The  bursting  of  window-glass,  the  hungry  lapping 
of  flames  through  the  broken  panes,  the  breaking  out 
of  fresh  fires,  mingled  with  the  screams  and  the  re 
coiling  terror  of  the  passengers.  At  each  succeeding 
station,  some  of  those  within  cursed  and  pleaded  with 
the  conductor  not  to  stop,  and  some  of  those  without 


CAUGHT  215 

prayed  him  to  wait  yet  a  little  longer  for  their  loved 
ones.  To  each  and  all  he  answered  unmoved : 

"I  must  save  every  life  I  can.  I  will  not  risk  the 
train-load  by  staying  too  long." 

On  which  side  was  mercy,  and  on  which  side  jus 
tice  ?  Had  he  not  waited  too  long  ?  He  held  at  bay  the 
madness  that  dogged  his  responsibility. 

Two  brakemen,  like  the  Great  Twin  Brethren,  he 
roic,  if  not  so  beautiful,  stood  holding  their  lanterns 
on  the  tender,  as  the  locomotive  moved  through  the 
unearthly  dusky  glare.  The  water  in  the  engine  began 
to  give  out.  And  now  the  fiery  cyclone  was  close  upon 
them.  In  the  fierce  screaming  of  the  red  whirlwind,  in 
the  wild  music  of  crashing  forest  trees  k  pseaned  its 
victory  over  the  children  of  a  day. 

The  Pine  Vale  bridge  rose  before  them.  If  they 
could  reach  the  other  side  of  the  bridge,  the  freight  of 
humanity  might  tumble  down  the  banks  into  the 
stream.  The  engineer  peered  anxiously  forward  by 
the  light  of  the  man-held  lights.  He  knew  that  the  ties 
on  the  bridge  must  be  on  fire.  Which  was  best,  to 
await  the  swift  flame,  or  to  be  dashed  to  destruction 
down  craggy  rocks  and  into  whirling  waters?  At  the 
head  of  the  bridge  stood  the  little  cubby-house  of  the 
watchman,  and  the  engineer  saw  his  welcome  lantern 
wave  the  signal,  "Bridge  all  right !  Go  ahead !" 


216        THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

The  last  bit  of  steam,  the  expiring  breath  of  the 
dying  engine,  breathed  forth.  Slowly,  slowly,  the  train 
moved  across  the  shaking  spider-web  of  iron,  not 
hastily,  though  death  were  tearing  onward  from  be 
hind.  Safety  comes  to  him  who  dares  to  take  time. 
The  bridge  swayed  and  trembled,  but  held  for  its  last 
service. 

And  the  watchman — what  of  him?  Greater  love 
hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his  life  for 
his  friend.  But  what  of  him  who  lays  down  his  life, 
not  for  a  friend,  but  for  a  multitude  of  fellow  creatures 
who  are  to  him  nameless,  and  who  shall  never  know 
his  name?  The  watchman's  charred  body  was  found 
next  day  at  his  post. 

From  below,  the  huddled  wretches  watched  with 
fascinated  eyes  the  crawl  of  the  train  across  the  bridge 
— all  except  the  mother  purring  over  her  recovered 
babies,  and  the  man  with  the  chattering  teeth,  the  one 
absorbed  in  her  joy,  the  other  in  his  misery. 

On  the  platform  of  the  parlor  car  stood  the  colored 
porter,  beating  down  the  flames  on  the  outside  of  his 
doorway  with  wet  towels  which  some  one  inside  dipped 
in  the  water-cooler  and  handed  to  him  in  relays.  The 
flames  scorched  his  black  cheek  and  singed  his  curly 
hair.  It  was  a  slender  girlish  figure  that  Lenox  saw 
through  the  smoke  wreaths  as  she  came  out  through 


CAUGHT  217 

the  door  to  hand  the  dusky  hero  a  fresh  batch  of  drip 
ping  cloths.  Those  two  were  doing  what  they  could 
while  pandemonium  reigned  within  and  the  steady 
nerves  of  conductor  and  engineer  guided  their  des 
tinies.  Those  who  could  do  something  kept  their  self- 
control;  those  with  nothing  to  think  of  except  their 
own  safety,  jeopardized  that. 

"Those  people  are  crazy!  Half  of  them  will  be 
killed,  getting  down  this  steep  bank !" 

Lenox  heard  the  words.  He  turned  and  looked  at 
the  speaker  in  a  dazed  way,  and  then  moved  toward 
Lyell,  startled  at  the  new  anguish  in  the  face  of  his 
friend. 

"What  is  it?"  he  cried. 
"My  wife,  she  is  there !" 

"Come  then !  We  will  go  up  and  help  her  and  the 
others  down!" 

Lenox  roughly  shook  him  out  of  his  torpor,  and  the 
two  men  scrambled  out  of  their  cover  and  wrenched 
their  way  up  the  rocks.  A  greedy  hand  of  solid  flame 
stretched  itself  across  the  bridge  toward  the  last  car, 
just  missed  its  prey;  and  the  spans  of  iron  curled  and 
hissed  and  lost  their  hold  on  the  shore.  The  train 
was  safely  across. 

On  the  platform,  pushed  to  its  edge  by  the  crowd 
behind  her,  stood  the  girl  who  had  helped  the  porter. 


218         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

The  train  slowed  to  a  standstill,  and  her  eyes  lit  with 
a  sudden  relief  as  the  two  wet  men  ran  toward  her. 

"Mr.  Lyell !  Your  wife  is  in  this  car !  I  am  afraid 
she  has  fainted.  Can  you  get  in  to  help  her  ?"  She  was 
calling  as  the  train  still  moved  along,  dragging  its  last 
cars  over  the  tottering  bridge. 

"Vera!" 

It  was  an  intimate  way  of  addressing  a  young  lady 
whom  he  was  seeing  for  the  third  time,  but  Lenox  did 
not  think  of  that. 

"Vera,  you  here!  Jump  quickly,  I  will  keep  you 
from  falling!" 

"I  am  not  afraid,  Mr.  Lenox,"  she  said  quietly,  as 
he  steadied  her  and  others  came  springing  behind  her. 
"Ah,  but  do  something  to  help  these  terrified  people, 
or  they  will  dash  themselves  on  the  rocks !" 

She  stood  beside  him  at  the  top  of  the  craggy  path 
way  which  was  soon  lined  by  men  handing  to  one  an 
other  the  frightened  creatures  descending.  The  sight 
of  the  quiet  girl  at  the  head  of  the  line  acted  like  magic 
on  other  women.  They  grew  calm  like  herself. 

Lenox  motioned  imperatively  to  her,  but  she  shook 
her  head.  Even  while  he  worked,  Lenox  found  time 
to  steal  a  look  at  her  pale  self-contained  face  and 
to  bless  her  for  the  order  that  she  helped  to  create. 

The  flame  caught  her  veil  and  she  quietly  tore  it  off 


CAUGHT  219 

and  threw  it  from  her.  Her  dress  blazed  up  in  one 
spot,  and  she  smiled  as  Lenox  sprang  at  it  and  crushed 
it  between  his  hands. 

"For  God's  sake,  Miss  Windsor,  go  down  now !  All 
the  women  are  down.  Come,  we  may  both  go." 

She  heaved  a  great  sigh,  and  put  her  hand  in  his  to 
be  guided  down  into  the  bath  of  life.  It  had  all  taken 
the  briefest  instant.  Men  wasted  no  time  in  words, 
but  the  organization  of  the  descent  was  as  swift  and 
accurate  as  though  it  had  bee'n  planned  beforehand. 

Meanwhile  Lyell  had  been  fighting  at  the  car  door. 
There  was  no  stemming  the  outrushing  stream  of  peo 
ple,  yet  he  must  go  mad  or  get  in  to  that  one  woman 
who  did  not  come  out.  His  passion  was  impotent 
against  the  struggling  throng.  He  stepped  back  for 
an  instant,  then  caught  the  frame  of  a  broken  window, 
and  though  the  spars  of  glass  tore  his  hands,  swung 
himself  up  and  clambered  in.  The  car  was  almost 
empty,  but  alone,  crouched  in  a  corner,  white,  staring, 
nerveless,  cowered  his  wife. 

"Ned !"  she  gasped. 

"Come,  Jean !" 

He  caught  her  hand  and  she  rose  unsteadily  to  her 
feet.  A  long  pennon  of  fire  hissed  in  at  the  window, 
and  she  drew  back  with  a  shriek. 

"I  can't !— I  can't  face  it !"   She  clung  to  him. 


220         THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

i 

"One  moment  more  may  make  it  too  late!  Don't 
throw  away  both  our  lives!" 

"I  can't  go  out  into  that  sea  of  fire !  I  would  rather 
die  here!"  Lyell  looked  around  in  a  fury.  Every  one 
else  was  in  safety,  and  the  flames  were  upon  them. 
The  memory  of  Svenson's  horses  came  to  him  with  a 
kind  of  bitter  humor.  He  tore  off  his  coat,  still  wet 
from  the  river,  flung  it  over  his  wife's  head,  and 
caught  her  in  his  arms. 

How  he  got  out  of  the  car,  how  the  devil  of  anguish 
wrapped  his  face  and  hands  as  he  fought  his  way 
through,  he  felt  as  in  a  nightmare.  His  eyes  seemed 
to  boil  in  his  head ;  he  heard  the  crackling  of  his  hair  ; 
he  heard  his  wife's  moan  inside  of  her  damp  prison 
house.  At  least  her  soft  flesh  was  not  cooking  on  the 
bones. 

There  was  a  lurch,  a  splash,  a  whirl  of  waters,  a 
feeling  of  lifting  hands,  and  the  intolerable  anguish 
of  his  burns.  His  eyes  were  covered  now  by  the 
scorched  and  aching  lids.  They  had  .lasted  long 
enough  to  win  her  safety.  The  voices  of  his  wife,  of 
Miss  Windsor,  of  Lenox,  sounded  far  off  and  thin  as 
in  a  dream.  Pain  absorbed  all  his  senses.  He  sat  in 
the  water,  and  some  one  dashed  it  over  the  mass  of 
stings  that  had  been  his  face.  Some  one  was  sob 
bing.  He  gradually  became  aware  of  it. 


CAUGHT  221 

"Ned!"  he  heard  a  low  whisper.  "Ned,  you  are  a 
hero  and  I  am  a  coward !  I  shall  love  and  worship  you 
as  long  as  I  live — if  you  care  for  the  love  of  such  a 
poor  creature  as  I  am." 

He  forgot  the  pain  and  joined  in  her  sobs.  Their 
hands  met,  two  warm  delicious  spots,  under  the  cold 
flow  of  waters.  With  his  charred  face  shapeless  and 
unhuman  for  the  rest  of  his  days,  in  the  mud  of  the 
river-bottom,  chin  deep  in  flood,  Ned  Lyell  sat  per 
fectly  happy.  His  wife  beside  him  forgot  terror  in 
the  wave  of  love  and  humility  that  swept  over  her 
for  the  first  time. 

"To  think  I  never  knew !  I  never  understood  !"  she 
kept  repeating. 

Overhead  long  flames  leaped  the  chasm  of  the 
stream,  burning  branches  blew  through  the  dyed  air 
or  fell  hissing  into  the  water,  bursting  balls  exploded 
into  a  thousand  sky-rockets  as  though  Titans  were  at 
play  with  the  elements.  With  groanings  and  crash- 
ings  the  age-old  forests  passed  through  their  death 
agonies ;  and  the  red  whirlwind  swept  onward  until 
the  blessed  barrenness  of  the  prairie  should  give  it 
pause  for  lack  of  food  to  feed  on.  Following  the 
hurricane  there  came  a  gentle  rain  of  flame.  Flecks 
of  fire  like  snow-flakes  fell  softly  and  unceasingly.  In 
the  intense  heat  the  houses  nearest  the  river  seemed 


222         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

not  to  burn  but  to  melt.  Their  walls  dropped  to  the 
ground  in  a  molten  stream,  showing  for  a  flash  the 
rooms  within  with  all  their  furnishings;  then  the 
core  disappeared  too.  Grateful  for  the  greater  cool 
ness  in  the  river  channel,  the  wretches  watched  it  apa 
thetically,  too  tired  to  talk.  They  sprinkled  water  on 
each  other's  heads  and  they  crouched  close  together 
to  keep  from  dropping  in  exhaustion. 

"You  are  the  most  wonderful  girl  I  ever  saw.  I  be 
lieve  you  were  not  frightened  for  a  moment,"  Lenox 
said,  watching,  fascinated,  the  matted  masses  of  Vera's 
hair  and  the  drops  that  trickled  from  his  ringers  over 
her  face.  It  was  like  a  fairy  tale  that  she  and  he 
should  be  so  closely  bound  in  this  common  experience* 

"Were  you  frightened  ?" 

"Oh,  well,  I  am  a  man." 

"I  don't  believe  your  sex  has  any  monopoly  of 
bravery." 

"Neither  do  I." 

"Then  I  will  confess  to  you  that  I  was  horribly 
frightened,"  she  said  whimsically.  "But  you  know  I 
have  the  blood  of  Indian  chiefs  in  my  veins.  It  would 
be  a  pity  if  I  disgraced  them  by  losing  my  self- 
control." 

"Self-control,  the  Greeks  said,  is  the  highest  of  all 
virtues,  and  comprehends  all  others." 


CAUGHT  223 

"The  idea  of  quoting  the  Greeks  when  we  are  soak 
ing  here !"  she  exclaimed.  "Besides,"  she  went  on,  "I 
think  there  is  something  better  than  self-control, — 
such  self-sacrifice,  for  instance,  as  a  man  may  show 
by  leaving  his  own  place  of  safety  and  coming  to  help 
others  in  jeopardy.  Such  men  deserve  all  the  good 
things  of  life." 

She  glanced  at  him  half  shyly,  and  her  eyes  traveled 
on  to  Lyell,  seared  but  blissful. 

"Put  your  head  down.  Here  comes  the  flame! 
Look,  here  is  a  flat  stone  at  just  about  the  right  depth. 
Let  me  move  you,  so  that  you  can  sit  on  it  and  be  not 
quite  so  cramped.  And  the  water  is  less  cold  over  here 
in  this  back  eddy." 

"How  good  it  is  to  cast  all  the  responsibility  on  you ! 
On  the  train  I  felt  as  if  I  were  rigid  from  head  to  foot 
with  anxiety.  Now  it  seems  to  be  your  business 
whether  we  live  or  die,  not  mine ;  and  I  am  free  to  be 
quite  comfortable." 

"I'm  glad  you  trust  me  to  that  extent.  See  here, 
Miss  Windsor,  I  used  my  coat  for  some  one  else,  but 
if  you'll  let  me  put  this  wet  waistcoat  over  your  head 
it  will  keep  your  hair  from  scorching  and  save  your 
ducking  so  often." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  began  taking  it  off  during  a 
lull  in  the  red  rain. 


224         THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

"I  will  take  out  my  pocketbook,  however,"  he  said. , 
"Although  I  know  no  way  of  keeping  it  dry." 

She  was  looking  up  at  him  and  he  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  of  opening  the  flat  book  and  showing 
her  what  lay  within — her  glove.  Mrs.  Lyell  looked 
over  from  her  watery  post  and  saw  some  gleam  in 
the  girl's  eyes  that  matched  the  exultation  in  her  own 
heart.  She  wondered  vaguely  what  the  two  young 
people  could  be  conversing  about  in  such  ordinary 
fashion,  while  every  one  else  was  absorbed  in  the 
world's  tragedy. 

"I  didn't  mean,  Mr.  Lenox,  when  I  told  you  to  come 
with  all  pomp  and  circumstance,  that  you  should 
choose  the  lightning  as  your  coursers  and  the  prince 
of  the  powers  of  the  air  as  your  squire." 

"I  was  afraid  you  were  going  to  find  fault  with  me 
for  appearing  in  my  shirt-sleeves !" 

"I  don't  care  what  you  wore  so  long  as  you  came," 
she  said. 

"There  are  worse  things  in  life  than  sitting  in  a 
river  under  a  rain  of  fire,"  said  Lenox  irrelevantly, 
and,  as  she  looked  at  him  startled,  he  added :  ''Have 
you  ever  been  in  a  Dakota  country  hotel,  Miss  Wind 
sor?  If  you  have,  you  know  why  I  am  so  contented 
now." 

It  was  a  relief  to  see  her  smile.   It  struck  him  all  at 


CAUGHT  225 

once  that  he  had  forgotten  that  there  was  such  a  thing 
as  amusement  in  the  world. 

"Do  you  suppose  the  damned  ever  laugh  in  hell?" 
he  said. 

"Of  course  not,"  she  replied  promptly.  "There  is 
no  hope  there.  Here  we  are  in  purgatory,  not  inferno, 
and  we  have  hope." 

"Yes,  we  have  hope,"  he  echoed  cheerfully. 

It  was  impossible  for  him  to  keep  his  eyes  from  hers 
as  he  spoke,  and  the  slow  flush  that  mounted  to  her 
temples  filled  him  with  ecstasy. 

"Is  this  thing  never  to  end?  I  feel  as  if  we  had 
been  years,  centuries,  seons,  in  this  flood.  I  have  for 
gotten  that  there  is  anything  else  in  life." 

"It  can't  possibly  last  much  longer  now.  Almost 
everything  that  can  burn  is  gone,  and  flames  can't 
feed  on  air  for  ever." 

"These  flames  can.  They  aren't  like  any  other  fire. 
They  are  horrible  demoniac  creatures.  They  are  devils 
sent  to  torture  us,  not  flames." 

"You  are  getting  dreadfully  tired,  aren't  you  ?"  He 
looked  at  her  solicitously. 

"Horribly,"  she  said.  "You  see  I  am  becoming  weak 
and  losing  my  boasted  self-control." 

She  smiled  at  him,  but  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"Lean  up  against  me,  and  relax  every  muscle.   Try 


226         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

to  rest  as  much  as  you  can.  I'll  watch,  and  see  that 
you  get  under  water  whenever  the  torment  comes 
worst." 

He  poured  double  handfuls  of  water  over  her  ugly 
head-covering  and  took  possession  of  her  with  anguish 
and  tenderness.  Now,  indeed,  the  situation  was  grow 
ing  intolerable,  if  she  could  endure  it  no  longer. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE   NIGHT  AFTER 

Gradually  the  fiery  flake-fall  thinned — flickered 
faintly — ceased.  Only  a  great  pall  of  smoke  hung  over 
the  desolate  world.  It  was  growing  dusk  as,  from  out 
the  flood  that  had  saved  them,  the  miserable  throng 
crawled  like  half-drowned  rats  up  the  roadway  that 
pierced  the  steep  cliffs  on  the  south.  Now  that  the  ex 
citement  was  over,  the  horror  of  their  position  seemed 
greater  than  ever.  A  cold  October  night  was  before 
them.  Their  dripping  clothes  hung  to  bodies  shivering 
and  utterly  exhausted  by  the  long  bath  and  the  terror 
of  death.  Around,  above,  lay  blackness ;  the  heat  had 
been  so  intense  that  it  left  little  on  which  itself  might 
smolder,  and  only  a  few  charred  embers  lighted  the 
gloom  with  their  still  more  horrible  glow.  For  these 
fragments  of  humanity  there  was  not  a  scrap  of  dry 
clothing,  not  a  mouthful  of  food,  nothing  but  the 
musical  tinkle  of  the  waterfall,  and  desolation;  and 
the  uninterrupted  splash  of  the  stream  but  intensified 

227 


228         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

i 

the  human  silence.  Men  lay  down  on  the  rough  baked 
earth  that  bordered  on  the  river  edge,  too  tired  for 
further  effort. 

"Mrs.  Lyell,  you  are  better  here  in  the  gully  than 
you  would  be  in  the  open,  you  and  your  husband.  See, 
here  is  a  craggy  projection  of  stone.  It  will  give  you 
a  little  protection  and  something  to  lean  against.  I'll 
lift  you  up,  Lyell.  Will  you  stay  here,  too,  Miss  Wind 
sor,  until  I  can  find  some  better  shelter  for  you — per 
haps  a  cellar?  Surely  there  must  be  a  cellar  left, 
though  it  does  not  look  now  as  though  human  beings 
had  ever  lived  here." 

Lenox  talked  rapidly,  fighting  inanition.  For  such 
weariness  there  was  nothing  between  feverish  energy 
and  despair. 

"Let  me  go  with  you,"  Vera  pleaded.  "I  shall  be 
better  moving  about."  He  looked  at  her  and  saw  from 
the  pale  anguish  in  her  eyes  that  she  was  in  the  same 
mood  as  himself;  and  he  gritted  his  teeth  and  held 
out  his  hand. 

"Come,  then,"  he  said. 

She  took  his  outstretched  hand  in  silence.  They  had 
kept  up  the  show  of  cheerfulness  in  the  river  long 
enough.  It  was  impossible  to  pretend  any  longer. 

Immediately  in  front  of  them  passed  the  man  with 
the  chattering  teeth,  staggering  like  a  drunkard.  He 


THE    NIGHT   AFTER  •'  229 

snatched  eagerly  at  Lenox's  proffered  arm  and  pointed 
mutely  toward  the  spot  where  home  once  stood.  It 
was  not  easy  to  find  the  exact  place,  but  at  last  they 
halted  before  a  roughly  outlined  hole,  and  stared 
down  through  the  twilight  to  where,  amid  the  debris, 
lay  the  huddled  body  of  a  woman,  burned  to  naked 
ness,  her  bare  shapeless  arms  stretched  over  the  baby 
she  would  fain  have  saved.  The  man  loosened  his 
hold  on  the  supporting  arm,  but  no  words  came  to 
any  of  them.  At  last  the  widowed  husband  raised  his 
head  and  turned  it  toward  Vera.  His  face  was  like  a 
skull,  with  sockets  in  which  the  eyes  were  almost  as 
sightless  as  those  of  Ned  Lyell.  With  the  cry  of  a 
madman  he  threw  his  hands  upward  and  broke  the 
silence. 

"Nothing  to  live  for  1"  he  shrieked. 

With  unfaltering  steps,  now,  he  turned  and  ran  back 
to  the  river,  the  indifferent  river,  willing  to  act  either 
as  savior  or  as  murderer.  With  a  sob,  Vera  caught 
Frank's  hand  and  held  it  nervously.  They  heard  a  dull 
splash,  but  neither  of  them  moved. 

Around  them  people  stood  in  speechless  groups, 
knowing  that  the  charred  lumps  scattered  here  and 
there  were  human  bodies,  but  without  comment  to 
make.  Even  tears  failed.  Almost  naked,  cold,  wet, 
hungry,  they  were  nerveless  and  hopeless  as  well. 


230         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

"Mr.  Lenox,"  Vera  whispered,  "can't  you  do  some 
thing?  We  shall  all  be  maniacs  before  morning!" 

Her  appeal  maddened  him.  It  was  so  impossible  to 
think  of  any  refuge  or  resource;  but  in  the  impulsive 
movement  which  was  his  only  answer,  he  stumbled  over 
a  rough  spot,  stooped  to  push  away  the  heaped  ashes, 
looked  closer,  and  shouted  aloud: 

"Here  are  potato  hills!  Come,  dig!  We  shall  have 
food!" 

The  spell  of  apathy  broke.  A  score  of  hands  were 
scratching  like  wild  beasts,  exultant  over  the  poor 
possibility  of  supper. 

Lenox  caught  at  the  arm  of  a  sturdy  old  man,  whose 
two  cows  came  with  him  from  the  water. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "I'm  sure  you  are  willing  to  help 
the  children  out  a  bit.  Let's  gather  them  and  see  how 
far  the  milk  will  go." 

"That's  right,  bring  'em  along!  I  guess  the  kids 
have  the  first  show,"  said  the  old  fellow  cheerfully. 
"But  you'll  have  to  get  some  one  else  to  do  your  milk- 
in'.  I  can't."  He  held  up  a  hand  puffed  and  shape 
less.  "Ain't  it  lucky  it's  the  left?  Anyway,  I  saved 
the  critters." 

Another  bonanza.  Mothers  who  had  lost  their  chil 
dren  gathered  orphaned  children  around  the  font 
where,  on  his  knees,  a  volunteer  milked  into  one  after 


THE    NIGHT    AFTER  231 

another  of  the  little  cups  made  by  tiny  pairs  of  black 
ened  hands.  Ah  !  The  warm  delicious  milk  ! 

And  now  the  reaction  set  in.  Society  asserted  its 
sway ;  regular  bands  set  to  work  to  clear  a  little  shel 
ter  in  the  cellars,  where  women  and  children  were 
bidden  to  huddle  close  together  for  warmth.  Some 
times  enough  half-charred  wood  was  found  to  build 
a  little  fire,  where  garments,  ragged  and  scorched  by 
their  rough  experience,  might  be  dried. 

Vera  pointed  out  a  bigger  hole,  where  a  bit  of  stone 
foundation  rising  above  the  ground  and  a  few  heavy 
beams  still  stretching  from  side  to  side,  gave  fair 
promise  of  shelter. 

"Wait  here,  just  a  moment,  Miss  Windsor,  while  I 
go  down  and  clear  out  a  little  of  the  rubbish.  There 
is  no  reason  why  you  should  sit  in  such  ashes." 

Lenox  caught  the  edge  and  let  himself  down,  while 
the  girl  and  the  group  that  gathered  instantly  around 
her  waited.  Then  he  reappeared  with  muscles  tense 
and  eyes  set. 

"Not  there!"  he  said  to  Vera's  questioning  glance. 
"Not  there,  in  God's  name !  Come  away !" 

He  caught  her  almost  roughly  and  drew  her  toward 
another  hole.  She  asked  no  questions,  and  if  she  had, 
how  could  he  have  told  her  that  the  pit  held  a  dozen 
upright  bodies,  clasped  in  each  other's  arms  in  a  last 


232         THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

witness  to  the  love  which  had  bound  them  together 
even  in  death. 

But  at  last  in  one  of  these  mean  refuges,  huddled 
against  other  women  and  children,  and  glad  of  the 
mutual  warmth,  Lenox  left  Vera,  and  went  back  for 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lyell. 

A  score  of  those  who  had  outlived  fire  and  flood 
were  now  collapsing,  and  all  that  their  fellow  sufferers 
could  do  was  to  lay  them  gently  on  the  earth.  The  de 
voted  priest,  himself  in  agony,  shorn  of  his  robes  of 
office,  because  he  had  taken  them  from  his  back  to 
soak  in  water  and  use  for  the  protection  of  others,  now 
knelt  by  the  dying,  prayed,  and  pronounced  absolution. 
There  was  no  question  of  creed. 

Mrs.  Lyell  had  been  tearing  to  shreds  her  petticoat 
to  bind  poultices  of  soft  mud  over  her  husband's 
burns.  She  looked  up  quietly  as  Lenox  approached. 

"Mr.  Lenox,"  she  said,  "a  man  just  drowned  him 
self  in  front  of  us." 

"Yes,  his  wife  and  baby  were  burned." 

"He  was  wise,"  she  said  simply.  "Now,  Ned,  let  me 
put  my  arm  on  this  side.  Don't  try  to  hurry.  Mr. 
Lenox,  is  there  any  possibility  of  getting  food  for  my 
husband?" 

"Miss  Windsor  is  saving  two  or  three  delicious  po 
tatoes  for  you,"  Frank  answered  cheerfully.  "To  be 


THE   NIGHT   AFTER  233 

sure,  we  do  not  serve  them  with  salt,  but  they  are  done 
to  a  turn  by  the  natural  method." 

"That's  my  condition,  too.  They  ought  just  to  suit 
me,"  said  Lyell  grimly. 

"Cellars  are  admirable  places  in  their  way.  I  be 
lieve  they  have  never  been  half  appreciated,"  Lenox 
went  on. 

He  settled  his  own  particular  charges  as  comfortably 
as  possible. 

"And  this  is  to-night.  What  will  to-morrow  be?" 
said  Vera. 

"To-morrow  you  will  see  your  father." 

"Don't !  When  I  think  of  the  grief  he  is  in  at  this 
moment,  I  can't  bear  it  !" — and  she  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  contritely. 

"I  have  nothing  to  pardon,  and  everything  to  thank 
you  for,"  she  answered.  "And  now  are  you  not  going 
to  try  for  a  little  rest  yourself  ?" 

"Not  just  yet.  There's  plenty  to  be  done  yet." 

"And  of  course  you  are  one  of  those  to  help  do  it.'* 

"Well,  I  trust  so." 

Near  the  hole  he  met  Svenson. 

"Har  your  coat,  young  man,"  he  said.  "Ay  tak  ham 
off  van  the  horses  gat  in  vater,  but  hay  pooty  vat.  Ay 
ban  rubbin'  down  the  horses  vit  my  own.  Ay  hope 


234         THE    PRIZE   TO    THE    HARDY 

thay  nat  hart.  Ay  tank  you  mooch.  Ay  navar  gat 
tham  down  to  the  river,  without  you  tall  me  poot  dase 
coats  on.  You  vas  pooty  goot  fallar.  Say,  vat  is  the 
name  of  dat  leetle  farm  you  vant  me  to  ship  grain  to  ? 
Ay  ban  tinkin'  about  so  many  odar  things,  Ay  forgat." 

"Oh,  we  can't  talk  business  now.  There  is  too  much 
to  do.  If  we  ever  get  out  of  this  place  alive,  I'll  come 
to  see  you,  Mr.  Svenson." 

"Yas,  af  we  ever  gat  back  to  a  place  vere  there  ain't 
no  damn  trees.  Ay  tall  you,  a  fallar  vants  to  lif  on 
farm.  Ay  ban  buyin'  lumber,  an'  das  fire,  he  hurt  me 
pooty  bad." 

Lenox  looked  at  him  curiously  and  passed  on. 

The  wind  rose  with  the  night  and  flung  a  whirlwind 
of  dust  and  cinders  over  the  holes  where  men  and 
women  slept  and  shivered  and  slept  again,  hungry  and 
scorched,  but  forgetting  all  in  blessed  unconsciousness. 

Three  or  four  times  during  the  night  Mrs.  Lyell 
slipped  away  from  her  unconscious  companions,  and 
crept  to  the  river  bank,  bringing  back  fresh  handfuls 
of  mud,  to  relieve  the  dried  poultices. 

"Jean,"  whispered  her  husband,  "blessed  as  it  is  to 
have  you  caring  for  me  in  this  way,  I  don't  want  you 
to  lose  the  sleep  you  need  so  much.  Don't  keep  me  on 
your  mind  any  longer." 

"Let  me  practise  a  tiny  bit  of  self-denial  on  my  own 


THE    NIGHT    AFTER  235 

part.  I  believe  it  is  the  first  time  in  my  life.  Do  you 
wish  me  to  forget  at  once  the  lesson  you  have  taught 
me?"  She  stooped  and  kissed  his  blackened  cheek. 

"Ah,  Ned,  I  am  haunted  by  the  old  words  about  be 
ing  saved  as  by  fire.  When  this  is  all  over,  and  you  and 
I  have  begun  to  live,  it  will  become,  in  memory,  a  holy 
baptism.  But,  ah,"  she  said,  "will  morning  never  come  ? 
I  wonder  if  the  sun  has  been  burned  out  of  the 
heavens !" 


CHAPTER   XVI 
HELP! 

Meanwhile  to  east  and  south  and  west  and  north 
had  sped  the  telegraphic  message : 

"A  forest  fire  is  raging  around  Pine  -Vale  and  sur 
rounding  villages.  All  communication  is  cut  off.  The 
north-bound  express  probably  lost!  Fearful  loss  of 
life !" 

The  excited  "Extry!  Extry!"  of  the  newsboys,  as 
they  rushed  out  with  the  first  news  of  disaster,  reached 
Mr.  Kemyss'  ears  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  he  opened 
the  office  window  and  beckoned.  The  impersonal  hor 
ror  with  which  one  reads  of  the  misfortunes  of  others 
gave  way  to  startled  apprehension.  Did  not  Mr.  Wind 
sor  say  something  about — 

He  took  the  laconic  words  in  big  black  type  and  laid 
them  on  the  desk  before  his  chief.  Windsor  slowly 
put  on  his  eye-glasses  and  peered  questioningly  at  the 
head-lines  for  an  instant.  His  jaw  dropped  and  shut 
again  with  a  snap  as  he  whirled  around  to  his  tele 
phone. 

236 


HELP !  237 

"Certainly  the  train  would  not  have  run  into  such 
a  trap !"  he  gasped  up  at  Kemyss,  as  he  waited  one 
horrible  moment  for  his  connection. 

No,  the  railroad  office  could  give  no  definite  infor 
mation.  The  express  had  passed  the  southernmost 
point  of  communication,  and  probably  gone  safely 
through.  They  were  even  now  organizing  a  relief 
train,  which  should  repair  the  track  sufficiently  to  get 
at  the  point  of  distress.  Medical  assistance,  trainmen, 
food,  clothes,  blankets  were  being  rushed  together. 

"See  here,  this  is  Nicholas  Windsor,"  the  old  man 
began  very  deliberately.  "Do  you  hear?  You  let  me 
have  an  engine  with  a  good  crew  and  a  hand-car  in 
half  an  hour,  if  it  costs  all  outdoors.  Don't  keep  me 
waiting  five  minutes,  or  I — I'll — I'll  wreck  your  old 
road !"  His  voice  rose  to  a  perfect  bellow,  that  might 
have  shattered  the  receiver. 

"Now,  Kemyss,  you'll  go  with  me.  Telephone  Doc 
tor  Norris  to  join  us  at  the  station  with  cotton  and  lin 
iment  and  stuff.  I  believe  we'd  better  take  some 
canned  soups  and  blankets.  Can  you  think  of  anything 
else?" 

The  puffing  engine  stood  ready  when  the  little  party 
reached  the  station,  and  the  engineer  gave  Nicholas 
Windsor  a  friendly  nod.  Everybody  knew  Nick  Wind 
sor.  He  was  public  property.  An  anxious  official 


238         THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

touched  his  hat  and  laid  a  detaining  hand  for  an  in 
stant  on  his  arm. 

"I  only  want  to  say,  sir,  that  a  train  will  be  off  in  a 
very  short  time,  and  it  is  not  necessary  for  you  to  go. 
And  you're  taking  your  life  in  your  hands,  not  only  on 
account  of  the  fire,  but  even  more  from  the  danger  of 
being  thrown  from  the  track  if  your  engine  strikes  a 
bit  that  has  been  burned  out." 

"Well,  you've  given  me  a  good  engineer.  That's  his 
business." 

"All  his  skill  may  not  save  you,  sir." 

"See  here,"  said  the  old  man  solemnly,  "my  daugh 
ter  is  up  in  that  hell  somewhere.  If  she's  alive,  I 
mean  to  find  her.  If  she's  dead,  I'm  willing  to  follow 
her.  She's  all  I've  got  in  the  world !"  All  he  had  in 
the  world!  And  he  a  multi-millionaire!  The  official 
put  this  statement  away  to  be  thought  about.  Aloud 
he  said: 

"Very  well,  sir.  I  hope  you  may  find  Miss  Windsor 
safe.  Pull  out,  Dick." 

The  engineer  opened  the  throttle. 

"Make  time  while  you  can,  Dick.  The  track  won't 
be  so  smooth  farther  on,"  said  Windsor. 

It  was  a  silent  party  that  sped  off  to  northward  in 
the  hazy  late  afternoon.  They  rushed  on  and  on,  with 
only  an  imperative  shriek  to  clear  the  track,  without 


HELP!  239 

slowing  up,  through"  one  little  country  town  after  an 
other. 

Once  in  a  while  the  old  man  would  mutter,  "But 
she  would  have  telegraphed !"  and  as  promptly  answer 
himself  with  a  groan,  "But  she  couldn't  telegraph." 

The  night  fell,  intensely  dark,  and  bands  of  smoke, 
dense,  solid  and  greasy,  like  something  tangible,  lay 
across  the  way.  The  big  headlight  shot  its  message  of 
safety  only  a  little  distance  through  the  impenetrable 
air,  and  when  the  smoke  lifted,  now  and  then,  far  to 
northward  lay  a  band  of  yellow  light,  sinister  to  watch 
ing  eyes.  The  yellow  band  grew  wider  and  more  un 
earthly,  and  now  a  red  spot  flamed  in  front.  The  loco 
motive  came  to  a  halt  and  a  fireman  ran  ahead.  Could 
that  possibly  be  the  headlight  of  another  train? 

"Only  a  burning  tree  close  to  the  track,"  shouted  the 
returning  emissary,  leaping  up  to  pile  more  coal  on  the 
furnace. 

"Gentlemen,  twist  your  arms  all  together,  to  steady 
yourselves  if  she  lurches,"  said  the  engineer. 

On  again  they  sped  through  the  blackness,  the  whis 
tle  screaming  its  warning  to  any  mysterious  thing  that 
might  lie  across  its  track.  And  now  tall  columns  of  fire 
resolved  themselves,  on  approach,  into  pine  trees  that 
loomed  here  and  there;  and  ghastly  spurts  of  blue 
flame  sprang  from  what  looked  like  solid  ground  on 


240         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

either  hand.  The  telegraph  poles  made  a  long  proces 
sion  of  signal  fires. 

Suddenly  the  engine  swayed,  staggered  and  came  to 
a  standstill  under  the  command  of  the  imperative 
brakes,  while  the  little  group  was  flung  from  side  to 
side. 

In  front  of  them  lay  a  narrow  strip  where  misshapen 
masses  of  steel  instead  of  tracks  told  the  tale. 

"I  guess  this  is  our  limit,  gentlemen,"  said  the  en 
gineer. 

"And  no  sign  of  the  express  yet!"  Windsor 
groaned. 

No  one  tried  to  reassure  him.  There  are  times  when 
conditions  give  the  evident  lie  to  hope. 

In  silence  the  hand-car  was  dragged  down  and 
pulled  across  the  gulf  to  where  the  tracks  resumed 
their  course.  And  now,  with  broad  backs  and  narrow 
backs  rising  and  bending  rhythmically,  they  hurried  at 
a  slower  rate,  until,  with  a  fierce  whirl,  they  found 
themselves  on  the  ground  over  a  sunken  culvert.  Then 
it  was  up  and  at  it  again  through  the  dreary  night, 
with  infinite  pains  and  maddening  delays,  sometimes 
where  a  burning  tree  lay  across  the  track,  sometimes 
where  a  tiny  stream  made  them  tug  and  sweat  to  get 
their  heavy  wagon  across,  sometimes  where  the  hot 
earth  compelled  them  to  shovel  a  pathway  before  they 


HELP!  241 

dared  to  cross  it.  Utterly  forgetful  of  their  pain  and 
weariness,  but  with  hearts  heavy  with  apprehension, 
they  toiled. 

It  was  slow  work  at  best,  and  the  first  gray  of  morn 
ing  was  creeping  upon  them  when,  in  the  waste,  they 
came  to  the  spot  where  a  few  twisted  ropes  of  steel 
marked  the  bridge  of  Pine  Vale.  There  was  no  cross 
ing  that  gulf.  The  engineer  pointed  across  at  the  dis 
abled  engine  lying  in  a  charred  heap. 

"'I  guess  that's  all  that  is  left  of  the  express  train, 
he  said. 

Beside  them,  where  once  stood  the  country  station, 
a  heap  of  coal  was  burning  fiercely.  No  vestige  of 
a  town  remained.  Even  the  dust  of  the  streets  was 
turned  to  ashes,  and  mingled  with  the  eddies  of 
smoke  which  hung  over  the  scene  of  King  Fire's  de 
vastating  triumph.  Sky  and  earth  were  a  uniform 
gray,  without  sign  of  color  to  prove  that  there  was  a 
sun  in  heaven  or  life  on  earth. 

A  moment  Windsor  glared  at  the  ruin,  then  he 
raised  to  heaven  a  great  cry  like  that  of  a  maddened 
bull. 

And  then,  from  nowhere,  there  rang  out  an  answer 
ing  cry.  So  unreal  it  sounded  that  the  cluster  of  men 
on  the  hand-car  gasped  as  though  they  were  hearing 
the  wail  of  ghosts.  But  now  human  heads  peered  from 


242         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

the  earth,  and  across  the  ashes  a  young  man  came 
bounding. 

"Mr.  Windsor!  Mr.  Windsor!"  cried  Francis  Len 
ox.  "She's  here,  perfectly  safe!  Thank  God,  you've 
come!" 

The  old  man  leaned  on  him  a  moment  and  fairly 
trembled  in  his  relief. 

"Take  me  there,"  he  gasped. 

"Relief!  Relief!"  The  joyous  shout  passed  from 
hole  to  hole. 

Windsor  and  his  daughter  were  sobbing  in  each 
other's  arms,  surrounded  by  an  excited  and  voluble 
crowd,  crying,  laughing,  clutching  the  new-comers  in 
an  anguish  of  joy,  hungry  for  a  hand-clasp  with  the 
dear  world  which  had  seemed  so  far  away. 

Windsor  still  held  his  daughter's  somewhat  sooty 
face  tight  against  his  big  shoulder  while  Lenox,  with 
many  interruptions  from  the  throng  around,  gave  a 
brief  outline  of  their  adventures.  With  her  hand  still 
clasped  by  her  father's,  the  girl  turned  shyly. 

"It  was  fortunate  for  a  good  many  of  us,  father, 
that  Mr.  Lenox  was  here  to  help  us.  He  came  up  to 
the  train.  He  didn't  tell  you  that.  Left  his  safe  place 
in  the  river  to  lift  us  down.  Thank  him,  dad." 

Windsor  grasped  Frank's  hand  in  a  tight  grip,  but 
he  said  nothing.  Only  his  eyes  wore  a  satisfied  expres- 


HELP !  243 

sion,  as  though  he  were  saying  to  himself,  "I  told 
you  so." 

"We  were  all  in  the  same  box.  I  did  nothing,"  said 
Frank. 

"Nothings  are  all  like  ciphers,"  she  answered,  with 
a  kind  of  return  of  her  usual  gaiety.  "How  much  they 
mean  depends  on  whether  the  man,  like  other  units, 
stands  in  front  of  them  or  behind  them.  There  is  a 
dark  saying  for  you." 

She  turned  again  to  her  father  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy. 
"I  can't  help  it,"  she  said,  marking  the  half  admira 
tion,  half  amusement  with  which  Frank  watched  her. 
"I  have  to  hug  him.  He  is  so  beautiful.  Don't  you 
think  so,  too?" 

"He  is  as  lovely  as  a  seraph,"  said  Frank.  "At  least 
his  clean  face  is  a  novelty  in  Pine  Vale." 

There  was  good  comradeship  in  the  way  these  two 
spoke  to  each  other  that  made  Kemyss  feel  miles  away 
as  she  turned  now  to  shake  hands  with  him  and  to  an 
swer  his  questions  about  the  fire.  Those  others  had 
thought  of  life  and  death  in  company.  They  were 
bound  by  ties  of  common  peril,  as  close  as  those  of 
common  blood.  He  was  a  stranger  to  that  new  world 
which  they  were  entering  together. 

A  thousand  schemes  began  to  revolve  in  his  brain 
at  the  moment  of  greeting  her,  but  they  were  chiefly 


244         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

schemes  that  left  her  out.  She  had  once  been  a  possi 
ble  investment.  Now  she  looked  less  desirable,  and 
her  clothes  were  tumbled  and  ragged. 

"Now  come  and  see  Mr.  Lyell.  He  was  horribly 
burned  in  trying  to  save  his  wife.  Ah,  Doctor  Norris 
is  with  him  already." 

"Lyell!  Great  Scott!  He,  too?  Was  all  St.  Etienne 
on  this  pleasure  excursion?"  Windsor  exclaimed,  as 
she  drew  him  away.  But  Lenox  saw  the  two  brought 
to  a  halt  by  the  solid  Svenson. 

"Say,  as  thas  your  boss?"  he  asked  of  Frank,  as  he 
stretched  out  a  friendly  paw.  "You  gat  a  pooty  goot 
man  har,  old  fallar." 

"Your  stock  seems  to  be  up  to-day,  Frank.  You 
ought  to  get  a  letter  of  recommendation  from  your  ad 
mirers.  Glad  to  meet  you,  sir.  Glad  you  think  well  of 
my  hired  man !" — and  Windsor  was  gone. 

"Hay  as  a  quar  ol'  duck.  Vail,  Ay  guess  Ay  go 
home  now.  My  vife,  she  ban  lookin'  for  me." 

The  excellent  Svenson  shook  Lenox's  hand,  mount 
ed  one  of  his  horses  and  started  placidly  on  his  way. 

Like  the  disordered  visions  of  an  anguished  sleep 
were  the  days  that  followed.  The  plain  over  which 
Childe  Roland  traveled  in  mystery  and  darkness  could 
not  appal  the  imagination  as  did  this  desolate  waste 
on  which  the  pitiless  sunshine  beat.  Half  suspected 


HELP!  245 

horrors  were  here  turned  to  bald  realities,  and  in  the 
midst  of  them  were  left  a  few  fragments  of  human 
life,  shut  off  from  all  other  human  lives,  but  bound  in 
intimate  ties  with  each  other  by  their  common  needs 
and  common  peril.  When,  at  last,  far  off,  the  puff  of 
an  engine  rose  skyward  from  the  blank  horizon,  sig 
naling  the  coming  of  help  from  the  dear  remote 
world  of  happiness,  men  and  women  gazed  at  it  with 
awe,  and  sobbed  aloud.  A  mile  away  it  halted,  and 
poured  forth  its  human  stream ;  then  came  soft  merci 
ful  hands  laid  on  aching  burns,  the  carrying  of  the 
maimed,  like  Ned  Lyell,  to  the  train  and  to  waiting 
hospitals,  the  burial  of  unknown  dead  in  nameless 
graves,  the  vision  of  a  white-faced  man,  silently  dig 
ging,  with  his  own  hands,  the  long  trench  that  should 
contain  the  crumbled  fragments  of  what  had  once 
been  his  family,  the  childless  mother  snatching  at  the 
waif,  eager  to  get  something  that  she  might  love ;  and, 
when  the  springs  of  emotion  and  the  secrets  of  the 
heart  were  laid  bare,  the  reporters  standing  about  and 
jotting  down  the  details,  that  the  ends  of  the  earth 
might  glut  themselves  with  anguish.  Always  and 
everywhere,  with  food  and  clothes  and  doctor,  the  gen 
erous  and  kindly  yet  callous  world  must  send  the  little 
ticking  machine  of  a  temporary  telegraph,  whose  every 
metallic  message  rouses  new  generosity. 


246         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE   HARDY 

Every  able-bodied  man  and  woman  was  at  work 
helping  some  one  else,  and  waiting  until  there  should 
be  room  on  the  outgoing  train  for  the  uninjured. 
Vera,  like  Lenox,  had  burns  that  at  ordinary  times 
might  have  counted  as  ailments,  but  now  they  were 
too  busy  to  have  any  satisfaction  in  their  maladies. 

The  first  duty  had  been  to  care  for  the  suffering  but 
still  living.  When  the  hospital  train  slipped  back 
to  St.  Etienne,  it  left  behind  it  that  other  duty  to  the 
dead.  There  could  be  no  great  ceremony  about  it.  The 
kindest  office  to  those  misshapen  masses  was  to  get 
them  out  of  sight  as  soon  as  possible,  with  rude  mark 
ings  above  that  might  hereafter  serve  to  identify  them. 
Here  a  shattered  family  sobbed  while  the  priest  spoke 
a  few  solemn  words  above  the  hasty  grave;  there  lay 
the  unknown  and  unclaimed  in  a  long  row,  to  be  put 
away  by  strangers. 

"Say,  look  at  Windsor !  He's  as  husky  a  grave-dig 
ger  as  any  of  us,  ain't  he?  I  tell  you  the  old  man 
hasn't  forgotten  how  to  swing  his  arms,  though  I  bet 
it's  a  good  many  years  since  he  quit  cuttin'  down 
trees." 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  a  man  who  was  working  side 
by  side  with  Cyril  Kemyss  nudged  him  and  pointed 
at  the  broad  back  in  front.  Kemyss  looked,  saw  Lenox 
helping  at  the  gruesome  task,  saw  Vera  come  across 


HELP!  247 

the  ashes  to  speak  to  them,  and  hated  and  envied  them 
all.  He  had  been  a  long  time  in  building  up  an  inti 
macy  with  Vera  Windsor  by  the  most  approved  meth 
ods  ;  now  it  seemed  vanished  into  thin  air.  There  was 
no  reason  why  it  should.  The  readjustments  in  hu 
man  relations  are  such  intangible  things  that  we  can 
not  tell  what  or  whence  they  are.  Kemyss  felt  that,  in 
some  way,  neither  father  nor  daughter  was  so  much 
his  as  before,  and  this  other  young  man  was  to  blame. 
And  yet  his  suspicion  was  nothing  but  the  reflex  of  his 
own  budding  disloyalty  to  them.  Whatever  its  source, 
there  it  was,  gnawing,  growing  on  his  consciousness. 

"Ain't  the  old  man  lucky?"  went  on  his  fellow 
worker,  unconsciously  playing  the  role  of  Satan.  "Tell 
you,  the  rest  of  the  world  can  burn  up,  but  he's  all 
right.  That  is  what  it  means  to  be  born  lucky  the  way 
he  is.  Other  people  lose  their  children  and  wives,  but 
you  can  just  bet  he  doesn't.  It's  always  that  way. 
They  say  the  fire  hasn't  touched  the  Windsor  lumber 
tract.  Just  went  out  of  its  way  to  let  his  timber  stand, 
as  if  he'd  built  a  barbed  wire  fence  in  the  air  to  keep 
the  flames  off.  It  begins  two  or  three  miles  east  of 
here.  You  could  most  see  the  edge  of  it  over  there,  if 
the  smoke  wasn't  so  thick.  'Twouldn't  have  hurt  him 
to  lose  a  little,  and  some  of  the  rest  of  us,  if  we've 
saved  our  lives,  that's  about  all  we  have  got !" 


248         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

"Oh,  well,  Windsor  doesn't  hold  much  in  that  com 
pany.  They  got  him  to  give  his  name  and  take  a  little 
stock  in  order  to  float  it.  It  is  nearly  all  owned  by 
small  investors.  So  you  needn't  feel  so  badly  about  its 
not  being  burned."  Kemyss  was  half  amused  at  the 
small  envy  of  the  man,  his  mind  being  chiefly  occupied 
by  his  own  affairs. 

Just  then  Doctor  Norris  came  up. 

"Mr.  Kemyss,"  he  said,  "we  are  in  need  of  some 
more  medical  supplies  from  the  train.  Would  you  be 
willing  to  go  for  them?"  Kemyss  stared  at  him  ab 
sently  for  a  moment,  as  though  his  thoughts  were  far 
away,  still  lingering  about  those  hazy  tree-tops  in  the 
east.  Suddenly  his  eyes  brightened. 

"Certainly  I'll  go,  Norris,"  he  answered.  "Just  give 
me  a  list  of  what  you  want." 

The  train  lay  over  a  mile  to  the  south,  as  near  as 
it  had  been  possible  to  bring  it  on  the  hastily-mended 
tracks.  The  greater  part  of  it  had  already  returned 
to  St.  Etienne,  taking  the  wounded  to  the  hospitals, 
and  only  a  box-car  or  two  with  supplies  was  left  to 
the  helpers.  At  the  end  of  one  of  these  cars  stood  the 
little  machine  by  which  an  occasional  message  sped 
back  to  the  world.  Just  now  it  was  deserted  and  un 
guarded  like  the  rest  of  the  cars.  Providence — or  the 
devil — was  on  his  side.  Kemyss  looked  around  and 


HELP !  249 

saw  only  a  solitary  man  tinkering  at  a  disordered 
wheel. 

"Know  where  I  can  find  the  medical  supplies?"  he 
asked. 

"I  think  they  are  in  there,  sir."  The  man  hardly 
raised  his  head  from  his  work. 

'Thank  you."  Kemyss  swung  himself  up  and  stood 
before  the  bit  of  brass  work. 

"Let  me  see,  let  me  see,"  he  said  to  himself.  "What 
is  the  name  of  that  reporter  from  the  Sun?  Howard? 
Howell?  Howison?  That's  it,  Howison.  Luckily  I 
know  how  to  operate  the  thing.  That's  one  advantage 
of  banging  around  the  world  as  I  have.  It  gives  a 
man  resources.  It's  hardly  necessary  to  sign  a  name, 
though.  They're  crazy  for  news  from  up  here,  and 
they'll  take  anything.  However,  it's  just  as  well  to 
cinch  it." 

Almost  as  he  thought,  his  fingers  began  to  play : 

"Timothy  Norton,  4  Sauveur  Terrace,  St.  Etienne. 
If  any  of  our  companies  slump,  buy  like  mad.  You  un 
derstand.  K." 

The  medical  supplies  lay  heaped  at  the  other  end 
of  the  car.  He  leisurely  picked  out  the  articles  for 
which  he  had  come,  and  let  half  an  hour  slip  by.  Once 
in  a  while  he  looked  out  from  the  car  door.  At  last, 
peering  through  the  growing  dusk,  he  thought  he  saw 


250         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

some  darker  spots  moving  over  the  ground,  and  again 
he  hurried  to  the  sounder. 

'To  the  St.  Etienne  Sun :  Entire  tract  of  Windsor 
Lumber  Co.  wiped  out  by  the  Pine  Vale  fire.  Millions 
of  dollars'  loss.  Howison." 

"There,  that  will  be  in  flaming  head-lines  with  har 
rowing  details  in  the  morning  edition.  It's  a  'scoop/ 
too.  I  need  only  give  them  a  hint  and  they'll  invent  all 
the  circumstantial  particulars  themselves." 

He  laughed  to  himself  at  the  exquisite  humor  of  it. 
How  many  people  would  chuckle  at  the  thought  that 
old  Midas  was  going  to  lose  a  big  sum !  The  misfor 
tunes  of  the  rich  are  a  wonderful  source  of  comfort 
to  the  rest  of  us.  He  could  hear  the  unctuous  satisfac 
tion  with  which  heads  of  families  would  read  this  par 
ticular  piece  of  news  aloud  at  the  breakfast  tables  of 
numerous  homes,  and  add,  "Well,  it  isn't  only  the  poor 
who  are  human.  I'm  glad  Mr.  Windsor  pays  his  share 
of  the  bill."  And  the  joke  of  it  was  that  he  wouldn't. 
After  all,  he,  Kemyss,  was  doing  his  employer  no 
harm.  The  stock  would  come  back  to  its  normal  value 
as  soon  as  the  truth  was  known,  and  if  the  small  in 
vestors  were  crowded  out,  why,  small  investors  don't 
count.  Moving  nimbly  with  the  exhilaration  of  their 
message,  his  fingers  resumed  their  work. 

"H.    Millar,    Secretary   Windsor   Lumber   Co.,    St. 


HELP!  251 

Etienne.  Your  woods,  Pine  Vale,  wholly  destroyed  by 
the  fire.  Burron." 

"He  won't  know  who  'Burron'  is,  but  it  will  give 
the  old  rascal  a  night  of  nervous  prostration  before  he 
sees  the  morning  paper.  This  is  a  real  stroke  of  genius. 
Millar's  the  kind  of  a  man  who  has  panic  latent  in  his 
brain  all  the  time.  I  hope  we'll  get  back  to  town  in 
time  to  see  some  of  the  fun.  At  any  rate,  there's  no 
possible  means  of  detection  that  I  can  see." 

The  next  moment  he  had  leaped  from  the  car  and 
met  the  on-comers. 

"I  don't  know  but  I  may  have  to  ask  one  of  you  to 
help  me  carry  some  of  this  stuff  to  the  doctors ;  there's 
almost  too  much  for  one,"  he  said. 

"Well,  I  should  say  so.  There's  no  use  in  your  try 
ing  to  carry  two  men's  load,"  said  the  first  new  ar 
rival. 

"Oh,  I  guess  everybody  is  trying  to  do  a  little  more 
than  he  can,"  Mr.  Kemyss  answered  cheerfully. 
"When  people  are  suffering  as  they  are  here,  a  man 
does  not  stop  to  think  about  himself." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

DEPRESSION    IN    STOCKS 

Other  trains  came  and  went;  the  dead  were  buried 
and  the  living  taken  to  homes  far  away,  until  a  new 
Pine  Vale  should  spring  up — a  Pine  Vale  not  of  the 
sweet-smelling  woodland,  but  of  the  desolate  waste 
where  fireweed  and  unhappy  brushwood  only  half 
hid  the  blackened  earth,  a  widowed  village,  rilled  with 
memories  of  the  dead.  The  wound  healed  and  the 
world  forgot  it,  but  the  ugly  scar  still  marred  the 
banks  of  the  rushing  little  stream. 

And  now,  when  it  came  their  turn  to  go  and  the 
train  pulled  off  southward,  Lenox  came  to  the  seat 
where  Miss  Windsor  and  her  father  were. 

"I  must  say  good-by  to  you  here,"  he  said.  "I  am 
going  to  change  at  the  junction  and  go  west  in  a  few 
moments." 

"Why,  Frank,  won't  you  come  home  with  us?" 
Windsor  looked  up  sharply.  "You've  earned  a  bit  of  a 
rest.  Grave-digging  is  tiresome  work,  both  for  the 
arms  and  for  the  heart." 

252 


DEPRESSION   IN    STOCKS  253 

"Thank  you/'  replied  Frank.  "I  think  I  will  go 
back  to  work." 

"Well,"  said  the  old  man  whimsically,  "I  must  say 
you  are  a  shabby  looking  creature  to  be  representing  a 
respectable  firm." 

"I  think  it  is  hardly  becoming  for  you  to  jeer  at 
Mr.  Lenox  for  his  appearance  when  I  am  such  a  spec 
tacle,"  Vera  interrupted,  smiling  up  at  Frank.  "What 
do  you  think,  Mr.  Lenox,  of  the  brute  of  a  father  who 
permits  his  daughter  to  wear  such  a  parody  of  a  hat  as 
that?"  She  waved  her  hand  toward  the  bedraggled 
object  that  a  day  or  two  before  had  been  a  picturesque 
sweeping  affair,  with  soft  plumes. 

"Never  mind,  Vera,  no  one  will  look  at  the  hat.  You 
are  all  right,  whatever  you  wear,"  said  the  fond 
parent. 

"Well,  with  what  I  left  in  my  dress-suit  case  at  Min- 
turn,  and  what  I  can  buy,  I  hope  I  may  at  least  live  up 
to  the  country  standard,  Mr.  Windsor,"  said  Frank. 
"At  any  rate,  I  think  it  best  to  go  on.  I  want  to  settle 
things  with  Svenson.  He  has  promised  me  all  his 
grain,  and  you  know,  sir,  how  much  that  will  mean  to 
me.  I  think  I'd  best  bind  the  bargain  while  the  fervor 
is  on  him." 

Miss  Windsor  nodded  her  approval  of  his  decision, 
and  he  was  gratified  that  she  should  care.  He  felt  re- 


254        THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

paid  for  his  heroism  in  declining  to  go  south  with 
them.  But  her  father  said. nothing  except: 

"Want  me  to  send  you  anything  ?" 

"Oh,  I  can  probably  get  things  of  some  kind  in  Min- 
turn." 

"You're  optimistic,"  said  Windsor. 

"Well,  I  should  be  glad  to  have  a  bicycle  shipped  up. 
And,  Miss  Windsor,"  his  voice  sank  to  a  slight  melan 
choly,  "I  had  hoped  to  finish  my  work  and  get  back  to 
claim  that  promised  dance.  But  with  all  this  turmoil 
and  delay  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  hope  of  that.  Will 
you  pardon  my  failure  to  keep  my  engagement,  pity 
me,  and  give  the  waltz  to  some  luckier  fellow  ?" 

"I  will  certainly  pardon  you,"  she  said,  smiling. 
"And  I  will  sit  out  the  dance  in  memory  of  the  whirl 
wind  we  have  gone  through  together." 

Their  eyes  met,  and  Frank  suddenly  bent  and  kissed 
the  hand  that  lay  on  the  back  of  her  seat.  He  glanced 
at  Windsor  and  blushed  guiltily. 

"Oh,  don't  mind  me,"  said  the  old  man.  "I'm  used 
to  seeing  boys  make  fools  of  themselves  over  Vera. 
In  fact,  it's  a  sort  of  condition  of  citizenship  in  St. 
Etienne.  I  don't  think  anything  of  it,  and  neither  does 
she,  thank  goodness.  Good-by,  my  boy.  Let  me  call 
your  attention  to  the  very  pretty  Swedish  girl  there  on 
the  platform.  That's  the  kind  we  have  in  this  country." 


DEPRESSION   IN    STOCKS  255 

Back  in  St.  Etienne,  Windsor  dropped  from  the  car 
riage,  while  his  daughter  went  on.  He  wrote  out  a  big 
check  for  the  Pine  Vale  relief  committee,  and  turned 
to  his  accumulated  business. 

A  knot  of  expectant  reporters  stood  or  sat  in  his 
anteroom,  but  the  old  man  waved  them  off. 

"Not  yet,  boys.  Business  first,  pleasure  afterward. 
You'll  have  to  let  me  take  a  whirl  at  my  own  affairs 
before  I  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  telling  you  all  about 
my  adventures." 

Just  then  a  man  came  running  in,  haggard  and 
anxious. 

"Well,  this  is  pretty  bad  news  for  our  company,  Mr. 
Windsor!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  suppose  it  does  not  hit 
you  so  bad,  but  it's  a  serious  thing  for  me,  let  me  tell 
you !" 

Windsor  tucked  his  arm  through  the  other's  and 
drew  him  to  the  inner  room. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Millar?"  he  asked. 
"You  haven't  lost  anybody  up  there,  have  you? 
Speak,  man !" 

"I'd  better  have  lost  myself,"  Millar  answered 
hoarsely.  "I've  lost  everything  else!  Ruin's  what's 
the  matter  with  me !  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  I 
put  every  penny  I  could  raise  or  beg  into  the  lumber 
company.  And  now  every  penny  of  it'll  go." 


256        THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

"Come,  now,  don't  have  hysterics.  What's  the  mat 
ter  with  the  lumber  company  all  of  a  sudden,  Hiram  ?" 

"Didn't  you  send  that  telegram  ?" 

"I  didn't  send  any  telegram.  I've  been  busy  earn 
ing  my  living  in  Hades,  and  I  don't  recommend  it  as 
a  summer  resort." 

Millar  gazed  at  him  in  speechless  astonishment,  over 
come  by  his  frivolity :  then  he  slowly  took  a  crumpled 
piece  of  yellow  paper  from  his  pocket  and  spread  it  out 
on  the  desk.  The  old  man  looked  at  it  in  silence. 

"The  morning  editions  are  full  of  it,  too."  Millar 
reached  a  trembling  hand  for  the  still  folded  paper 
that  lay  on  the  window-sill,  and  laid  it  beside  the  tele 
gram. 

"Gee  whizz !"  ejaculated  the  old  man. 

Millar's  face  and  hands  twitched,  and  his  eyes 
twitched,  following  the  deliberate  tramp  of  Windsor 
up  and  down  the  room. 

"You  don't  know  who  sent  that  thing?"  Windsor 
asked  abruptly. 

"No,  I  supposed  you  told  some  one  to  do  it." 

"I  didn't.  What's  happened?" 

"They  went  crazy.  There  was  a  fearful  slump  this 
morning.  You  know  it's  mostly  small  holders.  Tele 
grams  coming  in  right  along  from  the  East,  and  fel 
lows  here  wild." 


DEPRESSION    IN    STOCKS  257 

"They  bore  with  Christian  fortitude  the  loss  of  life 
up  there,  didn't  they?" 

"Well,  of  course,  every  one's  sympathy  was  very 
much  worked  up." 

"Yes,  but  this  touched  their  pockets.  We  all  know 
a  man  is  much  more  valuable  than  gold  and  precious 
stones,  but  he's  less  easy  to  convert  into  negotiable 
security.  Oh,  I'm  not  vilifying  the  human  race.  I  saw 
some  fine  specimens  up  there  at  Pine  Vale,  Millar.  The 
Lord's  hero-mill  isn't  a  large  one,  but  He  is  still  turn 
ing  out  a  few  of  the  genuine  old  brand." 

"Great  heavens,  can't  you  talk  about  something  more 
to  the  point,  when  I  am  on  tenterhooks?  What  about 
this  telegram?" 

"It's  a  lie !  Hi,— Kemyss !" 

Kemyss  appeared  at  the  doorway,  bland  and  fresh 
as  usual. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  this  reported  de 
struction  of  our  property  up  at  Pine  Vale  ?" 

"Only  what  I  have  just  read  in  the  papers,  Mr. 
Windsor." 

"You  didn't  hear  anything  of  it  when  we  were  up 
there?" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  heard  that  your  tract  escaped." 

"Just  call  up  the  Sun,  will  you,  and  ask  them  how 
they  got  their  information  ?  I'd  like  to  know." 


258         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

The  two  older  men  listened  in  silence  to  the  one 
sided  conversation  with  its  bur  of  metallic  answering 
voice  through  the  telephone. 

Kemyss  turned  with  the  receiver  still  in  his  hand, 
and  his  face  composed. 

"The  Sun  says  their  special  correspondent  at  Pine 
Vale  wired  them  the  news." 

"You  just  tell  them  to  telegraph  to  their  reporter  on 
my  behalf  and  ask  him  how  he  knows." 

Windsor  thrust  his  head  through  the  door.  "Boys, 
I'll  be  with  you  in  about  the  time  it  takes  to  get  'cen 
tral.'  I've  got  some  society  news  for  you.  Now,  Mil 
lar,  I  suppose  folks  have  been  trying  to  unload  their 
stock?" 

"Unload!"  groaned  Millar.  "They're  giving  it 
away." 

"Found  some  takers,  did  they?" 

"Yes,  a  few." 

"Well,  we'll  just  find  out  who  these  buyers  are,  won't 
we?  But  first  I'm  going  to  give  my  friends,  the  society 
reporters,  a  little  talk  in  words  of  one  syllable  that  the 
public  will  understand.  I  guess  it  isn't  too  late  to  get 
out  some  special  editions  to-night." 

Kemyss  listened  to  this  rapid  gun  in  growing  dis 
may.  He  had  expected  a  little  more  time  to  cover  his 
tracks  before  the  explosion  came.  What  had  Tim 


DEPRESSION    IN    STOCKS  259 

done?  How  cautious  had  he  been  in  his  methods? 
How  soon  would  he  get  out  of  town  ? 

Windsor's  sharp  voice  interrupted  his  thoughts. 
"Here,  my  lad,  I  think  you  can  attend  to  these  letters, 
if  you're  not  too  done  up.  You  are  looking  a  bit 
seedy." 

Kemyss  took  the  batch  of  mail  to  his  own  room,  but 
his  head  buzzed  with  excitement.  He  would  have  given 
anything  for  an  hour's  freedom.  He  dared  not  even 
use  the  telephone  to  call  up  Norton,  for  a  trim,  big- 
eyed  stenographer,  with  an  abnormal  bump  of  inquisi- 
tiveness,  sat  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  perfunc 
torily  drumming  away  at  the  letters  he  dictated  to  her. 
Through  the  closed  door,  he  heard  the  incessant  ring 
of  Windsor's  telephone,  and  now  and  then  a  disjointed 
word.  He  heard  the  coming  and  going  of  feet  and 
voices ;  and,  though  this  was  the  normal  condition  of 
things,  it  filled  him  with  apprehension.  What  were 
they  finding  out?  If  he  himself  but  knew  the  real  con 
dition  of  affairs !  One  hour,  two  hours,  three  hours ! 
The  stenographer  snapped  down  her  machine.  Kemyss 
sprang  to  the  door  to  see  Windsor  humping  himself 
into  his  overcoat. 

"I  guess  business  is  about  over,  Kemyss,"  he  said 
cheerfully.  "Glad  we've  a  roof  over  our  heads  to 
night.  Beats  sleeping  in  the  open,  doesn't  it?  Belongs 


260         THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

to  us  to  see  that  those  poor  wretches  up  there  have  a 
roof  as  soon  as  possible,  too." 

"Have  you  found  out  anything?"  Kemyss  managed 
to  articulate. 

"About  the  lumber  fire?  The  story  was  a  fake  all 
right.  That's  about  all  we  know.  Good  night,  my  boy." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
MRS.  LYELL'S  NEW  GOSPEL 

Oh,  the  luxury  of  warm  water  and  clean  dainty 
underclothes!  To  know  it  fully  one  must  have 
passed  through  flood  and  smoke,  thought  Vera.  But 
even  to  the  physical  delight  of  cleanliness  she  must 
not  yield  herself  too  long,  so  goaded  was  she  by  the 
desire  to  hear  what  a  more  leisurely  medical  examina 
tion  had  to  say  of  Ned  Lyell. 

The  soft  little  woman  who  came  to  meet  her  was  an 
other  revelation.  How  different  she  had  looked  when 
they  last  met ! 

Mrs.  Lyell's  face  was  a  study  of  delightful  lines. 

"He's  better !  He  is  really  very  comfortable,  he 
says !"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  came  into  the  room. 

"And  you,  Eugenia  ?  It  is  a  delight  to  see  you  look 
ing  like  your  own  old  self  again !" 

Mrs.  Lyell  stopped  and  picked  at  her  skirts  in  a  self- 
conscious  fashion. 

"Do  I  really  look  just  the  same?"  she  asked.  "Isn't 
261 


262         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

that  absurd?  I  was  not  quite  sure  that  it  was  I.  I 
keep  examining  my  petticoats,  like  the  little  old  woman 
in  the  nursery  rhyme,  to  see  if  it  is  really  I.  My  chief 
reassurance  is  that  my  little  dog  up  stairs  seems  to 
recognize  me,  though  he  can't  see  me,  poor  dear !" 

"You  ridiculous  woman,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  I  mean  that  I'm  half  dazed  by  all  the  new 
things  that  have  come  over  me.  I  am  like  a  blind  man 
that  suddenly  sees.  I've  been  living  in  cloudland, 
where  everything  was  rainbow,  and  I  find  myself  on 
earth  where  trees  are  green,  and  sky  is  blue.  I  must 
tell  you  about  it,  my  dear,  because  I  am  so  full  of  it. 
I've  stopped  philosophizing  and  begun  to  live.  I  hope 
I  have  stopped  looking  inside  and  begun  to  look  out 
side.  I  have  always  thought  the  most  interesting 
things  in  life  were  ideas,  and  I  find  they  aren't  a  patch 
on  love.  So  this  is  my  final  preachment  to  you ;  don't 
love  your  own  soul  too  much ;  love  somebody  else's." 

"You  dear  old  goose !"  Vera  exclaimed.  "You  were 
always  right.  You  have  only  turned  away  from  one 
noble  side  of  yourself  to  another." 

"But  that  is  just  it.  Before,  I  insisted  there  was 
only  one  side  to  things.  Ned  has  been  telling  me  that 
I  am  a  regular  prism  for  sides.  No,  I  am  not  going  to 
be  a  many-sided  genius  any  longer.  I  will  tell  you 
just  one  little  thing  more  about  myself,  and  then  we'll 


MRS.   LYELL'S    NEW   GOSPEL         263 

drop  that  subject  for  ever.  I  am  only  a  woman  who  is 
madly  in  love  with  her  husband  \"  She  threw  out  her 
arms  and  looked  radiant.  Vera  gave  her  a  great  hug. 

"Now  we'll  talk  about  him,"  she  went  on.  "Doctor 
Harper  came  up  as  soon  as  we  got  home,  and  poor 
Ned  lies  up  there  bandaged  and  waiting.  It  will  be  a 
long  time  before  we  shall  know  whether  he  is  ever  to 
see.  Meanwhile  we  are  getting  acquainted  as  we  never 
did  before.  You  don't  know  what  an  interesting  man 
my  husband  is !" 

"Mr.  Lenox  talked  to  me  a  little  about  him,"  Vera 
said  with  a  soft  blush. 

But  Mrs.  Lyell  did  not  see  the  blush.  She  sat  with 
downcast  eyes  and  plump  hands  clasped  after  her 
fashion.  Suddenly  she  looked  up. 

"Vera  Windsor,  I  made  a  confession  about  my  mar 
ried  life  to  you  about  two  weeks  ago.  No !  Was  it  two 
weeks — five  hundred  years  ago !  Now  I  am  going  to 
make  another.  I  have  discovered  that  I  had  literally 
carried  out  my  own  theory  and  created  a  world  for 
myself,  and  a  very  unsuccessful  world  it  was.  I  had  as 
sumed  my  own  superiority  and  shut  Ned  out  of  my 
life.  I  had  even  helped  the  rest  of  the  world  to  believe 
in  his  inferiority, — which  does  not  exist.  I  took  for 
granted  that  my  marriage  was  a  failure,  and  so  I  made 
it  so.  Can  I  abase *myself  too  low?  Ned  and  I  have 


264         THE    PRIZE   TO    THE    HARDY 

talked  it  all  over  with  perfect  frankness.  He  says  all 
my  philosophy  was  good  enough,  only  the  opposite  is 
true,  too.  He  says  the  world  consists  not  only  of 
sweetness  and  light,  but  of  coal-strikes  and  diphtheria. 
There  is  a  class  of  minds  that  think  it  is  impossible  to 
believe  in  sunshine  unless  they  deny  shadow,  and  that 
was  my  kind.  I  realize  now  that  I  lived  under  a  con 
tinuous  nervous  strain  in  trying  to  believe  in  myself. 
Ned  is  so  tender  and  respectful  to  all  that  is  good  in 
me  that  I  think  we  are  going  to  begin  to  live  the 
higher  life  together,  now." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  Mrs.  Lyell  went  on  in  a 
lower,  and  less  jubilant  voice  : 

'The  thing  that  impresses  me  about  all  our  experi 
ence  up  in  that  dreadful  place,  Vera,  is  the  heroism  of 
the  common  people.  It  was  the  fireman,  the  con 
ductor,  the  porter,  who  played  the  fire-extinguisher 
as  if  they  were  treating  us  to  a  sprinkling  of  cologne, 
the  men  who  stood  in  line  till  the  last  woman  was 
down  the  bank — and  I  thought  only  of  myself,  and  so 
I  was  afraid."  She  looked  up  and  laughed.  "Isn't 
it  the  irony  of  fate?  When  I  got  home  I  found  a 
letter  from  my  publisher  speaking  of  the  tremendous 
sale  that  my  little  book,  Paradise  on  Earth,  is  having. 
Paradise  of  Fools,  I  think  I  should  call  it  now.  How 
ever,  it  is  going  to  bring  me  in  the  money  to  take  care 


MRS.    LYELL'S    NEW    GOSPEL         265 

of  that  helpless  lover  of  mine  up  stairs  until  we  know 
whether  he  or  I  am  to  be  the  bread-winner  for  the 

family." 

"But  you  surely  do  not  intend  to  give  up  all  your 
public  work,  do  you,  Jean?  You  were  always  such 
an  inspiration  to  other  women." 

"Perhaps  not.  It  seems  to  be  my  fate  to  instruct 
my  fellow  women,  whether  I  know  more  than  they  da 
or  not ;  and  I  shall  keep  on,  I  fancy,  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter,  being  a  little  .Buddha.  But  I  shall  talk  about 
the  glory  of  the  commonplace  now,  instead  of  the  glory 
of  the  unthinkable.  I  shall  try  to  make  them  want  to  be 
themselves,  rather  than  yearn  for  the  remote." 

Her  eyes  took  on  the  luminous  look  the  girl  knew 
and  loved  so  well. 

They  kissed  each  other  in  silence.  Vera  felt  that 
she  had  nothing  to  say  to  this  tumultuous  bundle  of 
impulses. 

Mrs.  Lyell  went  back  up  stairs  to  where  the  bandaged 
shape  bore  only  a  partial  resemblance  to  a  man. 
"You  are  feeling  more  comfortable?"  she  asked. 
"Very  comfortable  and  very  well,  dear." 
"You  poor  patient  creature !  you'd  be  sure  to  say  so. 
And  one  of  these  days  you  are  going  to  see  again." 
"One  of  these  days  I  am  going  to  see  you,  Jean." 
"As  though  I  were  the  only  thing  to  be  seen !" 


266         THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

"You  are  at  least  the  chief  thing  for  me." 
She  sat  down  on  a  footstool  beside  the  bed,  and 
leaned  her  chin  meditatively  in  her  hand,  until  her 
husband  stirred  uneasily. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?" 
"No,  I  was  only  afraid  you  had  gone  away." 
She  slipped  her  cool  ringers  around  his  neck  where 
the  flesh  was  unburned  and  unpoulticed. 

"Now  you  can  feel  that  I  am  here.  I  was  thinking 
of  something  that  happened  a  little  time  ago;  and, 
before  you  can  see  again,  I  want  to  tell  you  about 
it.  I  am  afraid  that  I  should  never  have  the  courage 
to  tell  you,  if  your  eyes  were  looking  at  me.  And  yet 
things  can  never  be  wholly  right  between  us  until  you 
know." 

"Could  you  really  ever  be  afraid  of  me,  Jean?" 
"Yes.     At  least  I  am  afraid  and  ashamed  that  you 
should  know   exactly  what  I  am." 

"I  think  I  have  known  all  along.  If  you  have  any 
faults,  they  are  like  the  tip  in  Pisa's  campanile,  and 
serve  only  to  make  you  more  perfect  in  my  eyes." 

"Well,  Ned,  this  bell-tower  of  yours  once  tipped 
so  far  that  it  nearly  lost  its  balance  entirely.  Even 
you,  I  am  afraid,  wouldn't  have  admired  it  if  it  had 
tumbled  in  a  heap." 

"You  wouldn't  be  talking  in  figures  of  speech  if  the 


MRS.    LYELL'S    NEW    GOSPEL         267 

danger  were  present.  I  believe  I  can  endure  anything 
in  the  past,  but  nothing  in  the  future.  Go  on." 

Her  fingers  grew  a  little  rigid  as  they  lay  upon  his 
throat,  but  she  told  him  unflinchingly  her  miserable 
little  story.  There  was  silence  for  a  moment  after  the 
tale  was  ended,  and  he  gulped  hard. 

"Jean,"  he  burst  out,  "for  the  first  time  you  have 
made  it  hard  for  me  to  lie  here  quiescent.  It's  cruel  I 
It's  intolerable !" 

"Of  what  account  is  the  serpent  to  us,  so  long  as, 
instead  of  turning  us  out  of  Paradise,  he  has  intro 
duced  us  to  it?" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"I  am  deeply  grateful  to  him.  It  was  he  who  woke 
the  hunger  in  me  which  you  are  to  satisfy.  He  made 
me  know  that  I  needed  love,  and  that  I  could  give  love. 
It  is  a  little  humiliating,  to  be  sure,  to  reflect  that  it  was 
his  meanness  and  not  my  integrity  that  kept  me  on  the 
straight  and  narrow  path  ;  but  if  my  shame  and  anguish 
were  the  birth-pangs  of  this,  I  think  we  can  afford  to 
forget  and  ignore  him." 

"When  I'm  about  again,  I'll  ignore  him  in  a  way  he 
won't  soon  forget." 

"What  a  revengeful,  militant  thing  you  are !  Lie 
still,  Ned.  Don't  thrash  around  so,  or  the  doctor  will 
accuse  me  of  tearing  off  your  bandages.  If  you  don't 


268         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

keep  still,  I  shall  go  away  and  leave  you  all  alone.  Be 
sides,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  some  more." 

"Go  on.  What  is  it  that  you  want  to  say?" 

"Aren't  we  having  a  good  time  now  ?" 

"Yes,  we  are.  But  I  would  prefer  to  do  it  all  over 
again  and  do  it  differently, — to  woo  you  and  win 
you  in  the  good  old-fashioned  way,  and  to  be  married 
and  live  happily  ever  afterward." 

"Pooh !  I  think  it  is  infinitely  more  romantic  to  be 
able  to  hold  each  other's  hands  here,  comfortably,  be 
side  our  own  fireside,  instead  of  seeking  the  cold 
damp,  rheumatic  seclusion  of  some  shadowy  church 
porch." 

"Oh,  you  do,  do  you?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  answered  his  wife  stoutly.  "And  I 
am  very  glad  that  we  can  indulge  in  any  amount  of 
affection  without  having  to  lock  the  library  door  for 
fear  some  member  of  the  family  may  burst  in  unan 
nounced." 

"Will  you  kindly  indulge  a  little  now?" 

"Why,  Ned,  it's  perfectly  thrilling  to  be  living  to 
gether.  I  don't  care  how  uneventful  it  looks  to  an 
outsider.  I  believe  I  have  discovered  a  great  fact." 

"And  what  is  that,  most  sapient  lady?" 

"I  believe  it  is  all  a  mistake  to  credit  youth  with 
being  the  age  of  romance.  Its  sentiment  is  only  tinsel 


MRS.    LYELL'S    NEW   GOSPEL         269 

sentimentality.  If  you  want  the  real  gold,  you  must 
get  it  in  mature  years,  when  all  the  good  things  of 
life  have  been  weighed  and  all,  except  love,  have  been 
found  more  or  less  of  a  failure." 

"I  agree  with  you,  little  woman.  Youth  is  self-cen 
tered.  Its  idea  of  love  means  getting,  not  giving.  But 
there  are  a  good  many  people  who  never  make  your 
great  discovery,  even  in  all  the  wisdom  of  middle  life." 

"Poor  things !  I'm  glad  you  and  I  aren't  going  to 
be  guilty  of  the  sin  of  second-best  any  longer,"  said 
Mrs.  Lyell  contentedly. 

"Jean,"  said  her  husband,  "have  you  ever  given 
Miss  Windsor  a  word  of  warning  about  Mr. 
Kemyss  ?" 

"No,  dear." 

"There  is  a  general  impression  abroad  that  she  is 
to  marry  him.  Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  give  her 
a  hint  as  to  his  character?" 

"No,  dear,"  said  his  wife  complacently. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  once  saw  her  look  at  some  one  else,  and 
I  know  she  is  in  no  danger  from  Mr.  Kemyss." 

"What  a  tone  of  satisfaction !  You  are  exulting  in 
another  love  affair." 

"Of  course  I  am.  Could  I  wish  her  anything  bet 
ter?  Never  mind  Vera.  She  can  take  care  of  herself. 


2;o        THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

I'm  going  to  give  you  your  first  curtain  lecture.  Be 
fore,  we  were  never  intimate  enough  for  me  to  lecture 
you." 

"It's  lucky  for  me  that  I  can  only  hear,  and  not  see 
your  severity." 

"I  don't  understand,  now  that  I  know  you  for  what 
you  are,  why  you  let  things  go  on  this  way  so  long. 
Why  didn't  you  make  me  love  you?" 

"Little  woman,  you  are  still  determined  to  look  at 
things  from  a  one-sided  point  of  view.  Once  you 
thought  me  despicable.  Now  you  can't  remember  that 
I  have  a  failing."  He  spoke  sadly.  "And  yet  it  is 
my  curse  through  life  that  I  never  have  the  courage 
to  seize  events  and  do  what  I  like  with  them.  Your 
indifference,  the  slightest  scornful  word  from  you 
seemed  to  make  me  numb.  Again  and  again  I  tried; 
but  I  never  caught  fortune's  forelock.  I  always  fail. 
I'm  afraid  I  always  shall  fail  in  anything  I  under 
take.  I  never  clinch  things." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  are  lacking  in  the  self- 
confidence  that  a  man  needs  in  order  to  make  him 
act  at  the  critical  moment?" 

"I  suppose  that  is  it." 

"We'll  soon  fix  that,"  she  said  confidently.  "For 
the  rest  of  your  life  you  are  going  to  succeed.  Here 
after  I'm  going  to  praise  and  admire  and  generally 


MRS.    LYELL'S    NEW    GOSPEL         271 

cocker  you  up  so  that  you  will  be  a  monster  of  self- 
approbation.  I'm  only  afraid  that  your  vanity  and 
presumption  and  masterfulness  will  make  you  almost 
unendurable."  They  both  laughed  like  children. 

In  the  carriage  on  her  way  home,  Miss  Windsor 
too  laughed  softly  at  intervals. 

But,  though  she  laughed,  one  phrase  of  Her  friend's 
kept  repeating  itself  to  her  own  heart : 

"Don't  love  your  own  soul  too  much;  love  some 
one  else's." 

"After  all,  it  would  be  worth  while  to  be  such  an 
other  extremist  as  she  is  to  feel  the  extreme  of  love 
too,  as  she  does,"  she  whispered  to  herself. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MORE   LUCK 

The  village  store  at  Minturn  was  chiefly  remarkable 
for  its  large  electric  lights,  and  the  absence  of  any 
thing  that  a  rational  mortal  could  eat  or  wear.  The 
brilliant  red  under-flannels  with  which  Lenox  was 
obliged  to  eke  out  his  diminished  store  gave  promise 
of  enduring  until  their  first  wash,  and  seemed  to 
offer  an  explanation  of  the  prevailing  prejudice,  in 
those  parts,  against  submitting  garments  to  the  wear 
and  tear  of  the  tub.  The  village  hotel  proved  to  be  a 
place  where  the  waiting  maid  shouted  Swedish  mys 
teries  into  a  hole  in  the  wall,  and  returned  bearing 
dishes  that  filled  Frank's  mind  with  interrogation 
points.  He  fell  \vith  a  thud  from  the  glorious  region 
where  Vera  Windsor  irradiated  peril  and  pain  and 
stirred  the  manhood  within  him,  to  the  commonplace 
earth,  where,  to  adopt  the  vernacular,  "a  feller  must 
hustle  for  his  living." 

Being  clothed  and  partly  fed,  he  set  out  for  the  fa- 
272 


MORE   LUCK  273 

mous  farm  of  Sven  Svenson.  That  big  blond,  serene 
and  unruffled  as  though  his  horses  had  never  been  in 
jeopardy,  received  him  with  a  welcome  as  broad  as 
his  own  breast.  The  farm  was  a  thing  to  look  at 
and  rejoice.  Lenox  was  thankful  to  accept  an  invi 
tation  to  spend  the  night,  glad  to  sit  down  to  the 
wholesome  profuseness  of  a  good  country  supper. 
All  around  him  were  gems  of  art  of  domestic  and 
factory  manufacture.  Here  hung  large  crayon  por 
traits  of  all  the  family ;  there  stood  brilliant  blue  and 
gold  vases,  such  as  one  sees  only  in  suteh  wholesale 
houses  of  St.  Etienne  as  cater  for  the  country  trade; 
here  was  the  overgrown  upright  piano  that  marks  ris 
ing  gentility.  Best  of  all  there  was  Mrs.  Svenson, 
clean,  rosy-cheeked,  blue-eyed  and  plump,  and  there 
were  the  little  Svensons,  clean,  rosy-cheeked,  blue- 
eyed  and  plump, — a  long  line  of  them,  "every 
smaller,"  as  their  father  explained,  with  a  descending 
wave  of  his  broad  hand  as  he  introduced  them. 

Lenox  was  always  genuinely  interested  in  the  other 
man,  so,  after  supper,  when  there  were  pipes  and  leis 
ure,  he  opened  up. 

"How  did  you  come  out  here,  Svenson?" 

"Ah,  Ay  coom  on  a  horse-car." 

"Oh,  that  will   do!" 

"Ay  mean  Ay  coom  on  a  car  vat  you  ship  horses 


274        THE   PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

on.  Me  an'  me  broodar  Eric,  ve  vas  ofar  dar  behind 
the  horses,  an'  the  conductor,  an'  the  brakeman,  day 
don't  dar  to  coom  in  dar  an'  gat  anny  fares  from  us. 
Day  couldn't  gat  anny  fares  annyvay,  because  ve  don't 
gat  anny  money.  Dat's  how  ve  coom." 

"And  what  has  become  of  your  brother?" 

"Eric?  He  vas  about  tray  hondert  mile  nort  of 
har.  Hay  got  big  farm,  Eric.  Hay  vas  vort  most 
saxty  tousan'  dollar.  Ay  tell  you  vat!  Ay  gif  you 
latter  to  Eric,  an'  Ay  guess  hay  gaf  you  some  grain, 
too.  Hay  vas  goot  fallar  to  know." 

"You  and  Eric  seem  to  get  on  a  great  deal  better 
than  some  of  the  settlers  here." 

"Ay  tall  you  vat,  young  fallar,  das  vas  de  best  coun 
try  in  world  for  a  fallar  to  gat  rich  in,  van  hay 
don't  gat  any  money  to  start  vith.  A  man  coom  out 
har,  an'  af  hay  got  'nough  brains  to  tank  vit  one 
half-hour  afery  day,  an'  hay  as  villin'  to  work  tan, 
twelf  hours  afery  day,  dan  hay  tanks  hay  fount  the 
promised  lant.  Dan  anodar  fallar,  hay  har  how  dat 
fallar  gat  rich,  an  hay  coom  too ;  an'  hay  ain't  gat  no 
brains,  an'  hay  ain't  gat  no  push,  an'  hay  sats  down  an' 
vaits.  Vat  does  hay  fint  ?  Hay  fints  ve  got  awful  hot 
dry  summers,  an'  awful  cold  vinters,  an  hay  say  at's 
a  damn  bad  country." 

"I  guess  you've   sized  up  the  situation.     Is  your 


MORE    LUCK  275 

brother  Eric  bringing  up  a  fine  family  like  yours,  to 
vote  for  a  Swedish  governor  every  time?" 

"Yas,  Eric,  hay  vas  married,  but  hay  don't  ban 
married  so  long  as  me,  an'  has  family,  it  ain't  so  big. 
Ay  vas  oop  dar  var  Eric  lif  van  hay  yoost  got  a 
leetle  dug-out  an'  hay  lif  all  alone.  Dar  vas  a  man 
name  of  Anderson,  Ole  Anderson,  an'  hay  vas  goin' 
avay,  an'  hay  vant  to  sail  has  furniture,  an'  hay  sail 
her  mighty  cheap.  At  vas  goot  furniture.  So  Ay  say, 
"Eric,  dat  vas  cheap  furniture.  You  vant  to  buy  that 
furniture.'  Eric,  hay  say,  'Vat  Ay  do  vit  all  dat  fur 
niture?'  Ay  say,  'You  ought  to  gat  married.  Das 
vas  goot  chance.'  So  Eric,  hay  buy  furniture ;  an'  hay 
say,  'Ay  vander  who  Ay  batter  marry  ?'  So  ve  sat  an' 
tank.  Dan  Ay  say,  'Dat  hired  girl  of  Larson's  shay 
mak  goot  vife.'  Hay  say,  'All  right.  Ay  go  out  dar 
now.  Ay  guess  Ay  gat  license  before  we  go.  Dat 
saf  one  trip.'  Because  Mr.  Larson,  hay  vas  ministar. 
Hay  could  marry  dam  right  off.  So  ve  go  to  gat  a 
license,  an'  Eric  say,  'Sven,  vat  you  say  har  last  name? 
Ay  know  har  front  name  vas  Tilly,  but  Ay  don't  know 
har  last  name.'  The  man,  hay  say,  'Ay  can't  gif  you  no 
license  vitout  you  know  her  last  name.'  So  Eric,  hay 
say,  'Vail,  put  it  down  Petarson  on  chances.  Ay 
guess  dat  do  annyvay.'  Veil,  har  name  was  Petarson, 
so  that  vas  vay  Eric  got  married." 


276         THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

I 

Svenson  put  back  his  big  head  and  gave  a  deep  bel 
lowing  laugh. 

"Hay  vas  a  goot  man,  an'  hay  got  a  goot  vife,"  he 
concluded. 

Mrs.  Svenson  came  in  from  her  household  tasks 
and  sat  by  the  lamp  to  make  a  wonderful  mat  by 
cutting  red  velveteen  in  long  strips.  Frank  longed 
to  ask  her  what  romance  lay  behind  her  matrimonial 
venture,  but  he  contented  himself  by  taking  a  young 
Viking  on  his  lap  and  telling  him  the  wonderful  story 
of  how  Brother  Rabbit  frightened  his  neighbors.  Sev 
eral  other  young  Vikings  stood  around  and  listened 
solemnly  and  pondered  long  on  what  they  had  heard. 
And  then  came  bed,  between  coarse  linen  sheets,  fra 
grant  with  cleanliness. 

3  It  was  afternoon  of  the  next  day  before  the  visit 
and  the  business  came  to  an  end,  and  Frank  said  good- 
by  to  all  the  little  Norsemen.  His  bicycle  had  come 
up  on  the  noon  train  from  St.  Etienne,  and  with  it  a 
letter  from  Henry  Repburn,  written  the  day  before 
the  Pine  Vale  fire,  an4  savoring  strongly  of  ancient 
history. 

"My  dear  Lenox,"  it  read.  "At  last  I  am  strong 
enough  to  write  and  thank  you  for  your  generous 
gift,  inclosed  in  the  note  which  Doctor  Norris  gave 
me  a  day  or  two  ago.  I  appreciate  your  good  advice, 


MORE    LUCK  277 

and,  as  you  shall  hear,  I  have  reason  to  hope  that  I 
shall  be  able  to  pay  back  the  money  some  day. 

"Miss  Windsor  came  to  see  me  yesterday.  I  did 
not  know  till  then  that  it  was  she  who  picked  me  up. 
She  is  all  right,  if  her  father  is  an  old  pirate.  She 
brought  me  good  things  to  eat  and  read,  and  was 
thoroughly  kind.  In  fact,  I  could  not  help  telling  her 
my  whole  story,  and  she  seemed  very  sympathetic  with 
my  undeserved  sufferings.  I  hope  she  will  give  her 
father  a  piece  of  her  mind  on  the  subject.  She  fin 
ished  by  offering  to  help  me,  but  I  told  her  that  you 
had  already  lifted  me  over  a  hard  place,  and  she  said 
that  was  just  what  she  would  have  expected  of  you. 
I  did  not  know  you  knew  her  so  well.  She  is  a  peach. 

"And  now  I  must  tell  you  what  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  telling  her.  My  luck  has  turned  at  last.  The  very 
day  after  I  came  to  the  hospital,  a  letter  arrived  from 
my  Uncle  Henry,  begging  my  forgiveness  for  his  un 
just  treatment  of  me.  He  has  had  a  paralytic  stroke 
that  partly  disabled  him,  and  he  implores  me  to  come 
back  and  take  care  of  him  during  his  old  age.  All  he 
wants  is  my  company  and  my  attentions,  and  he  prom 
ises  to  make  me  his  heir.  Of  course  this  good  for 
tune  makes  me  all  the  more  ashamed  of  my  recent 
act,  and  more  grateful  to  you  and  Miss  Windsor  for 
saving  me,  I  do  not  feel  so  grateful  to  Doctor  Nor- 


278        THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

ris,  for,  though  he  has  done  his  duty  to  me  as  a  phy 
sician,  he  has  spoken  to  me  in  a  way  that  I  must  desig 
nate  as  hateful.  A  doctor  has  no  call  to  administer 
morals. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  be  un-Christian,  but  I  can  not 
help  regarding  this  visitation  of  Uncle  Henry's  as  a 
judgment.  He  probably  brought  it  on  himself  by  his 
evil  passions  against  me.  He  has  a  daughter  who  was 
very  impertinent  to  him  years  ago.  He  quarreled 
violently  with  her,  so  that,  as  she  inherits  his  bad  dis 
position,  it  is  quite  right  that  I  should  inherit  his 
property. 

"Of  course  I  shall  not  twit  him  with  the  evident 
Providence  shown  in  his  misfortune,  for  it  might  turn 
him  against  me  if  I  did.  I  shall  be  as  kind  to  him  as 
I  know  how. 

"Your  welcome  gift  will  enable  me  to  pay  my  fare 
back  to  Winterhaven,  whither  I  shall  go  in  a  few 
days  now,  and  I  shall  hope  to  return  the  money  soon. 
I  should  not  think  Uncle  Henry  would  last  long.  But 
I  do  not  expect  to  return  to  St.  Etienne.  I  do  not 
think  the  West  suits  me. 

"May  the  same  good  luck  that  has  at  last  befallen 
me  come  to  you. 

Sincerely  your  friend, 

Henry  Repburn." 


MORE   LUCK  279 

As  he  folded  up  this  epistle  Frank  could  not  Help 
whistling  softly  to  himself. 

"Here  is  food  for  reflection,"  he  said.  "But  being 
a  'man  on  the  road/  I  have  no  time  for  reflection.  T 
will  ride  twenty  miles  north  to  Trondheim,  and  there 
try  to  intercept  to-morrow's  express  on  to  Eric  Sven- 
son." 

Over  the  level  prairie  road,  with  the  wind  at  his 
back,  he  made  the  new  wheel  fly,  but  the  road  soon 
narrowed  and  faded  out  into  mere  ruts,  so  that  ever 
his  pace  grew  slower  and  slower.  The  gusts  became 
fitful,  uncertain  of  their  own  intention,  then  whirled 
around,  bringing  with  them  fierce  sheets  of  rain,  the 
first  rain  for  two  months.  Lenox's  first  thought  was, 
"If  this  had  come  three  days  ago,  Pine  Vale  and  her 
people  would  not  now  be  in  ashes !" 

Slipping,  riding  and  walking  in  the  steady  down 
pour  soon  brought  back  his  thoughts  to  his  own  small 
affairs.  Again  and  again  he  fell  from  his  wheel  with 
no  injury  except  a  soft  coating  of  mud  from  heels  to 
head.  Now  and  again  the  wheels  blocked  entirely,  so 
that  he  had  to  leave  the  road  and  take  to  the  uneven 
prairie,  to  stumble  over  the  stubbly  grass. 

Every  mile  or  so,  a  small  stream  crossed  the  road, 
and  bridges  there  were  none.  At  first  he  crossed  these 
rivulets  on  the  parallel  railway,  but  soon,  growing  in- 


280        THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

different  to  wetness,  he  shouldered  his  wheel  and  gal 
lantly  waded  the  currents.  For  two  mortal  hours, 
with  eyes  full  of  damp  real  estate,  plunging  and  lung 
ing  through  the  storm,  he  fought  his  way.  Then  the 
sun  came  brilliantly  to  the  fore  again  and  baked  the 
mud  picturesquely  over  him. 

Thus  decorated,  he  rode  into  Trondheim,  to  the 
great  delight  of  the  little  boys  who  lined  up  to  watcti 
him.  Like  a  dog  with  its  tail  between  its  legs,  Lenox 
jogged  his  wheel  between  their  loud-voiced  ranks, 
and  gladly  flung  himself  into  the  shelter  of  the  hotel. 
A  portly  German  host,  with  discernment  enough  to 
perceive  his  underlying  respectability,  cheerfully 
proffered  a  suit  of  his  own  clothes,  but  to  the  wearied 
bicyclist  bed  was  the  most  alluring  of  images;  and 
to  bed  he  went,  handing  his  raiment  through  the  door 
to  be  dried  and  cleaned  according  to  the  dictates  of 
the  German  conscience. 

But  before  the  blessings  of  bed,  there  were  new  hor 
rors  to  be  endured.  He  discovered  that,  save  for  a  few 
pale  streaks  on  his  legs,  he  was  dyed  a  brilliant,  in 
dubitable,  glowing  red. 

"Never  again  will  I  buy  under-flannels  at  Minturn," 
he  said,  dejectedly  surveying  himself  in  the  mirror. 
And  as  he  scrubbed  in  growing  desperation:  "Will 
nothing  but  time  and  sapolio  avail  me?  It's  unrea- 


MORE   LUCK  281 

sonable  that  color  that  goes  on  so  easily  should  stick 
so  fast." 

With  chattering  teeth,  and  weary  with  a  weariness 
on  which  the  unmeaning  hotel   supper,   sent  to  his, 
room,  made  no  impression,  he  tried  to  settle  himself 
to  sleep.    He  was  disturbed  to  find  his  pulse  running  a 
little  wildly.     No  longer  a  youth  out  in  pursuit  of 
fortune,  he  became   a  desolate,   homeless,   friendless 
wanderer.     He  was  without  belongings.     He  wrote 
his  mother's  name  and  address  on  a  scrap  of  paper 
and  pinned  it  to  the  head  of  the  bed,  realizing,  as  he 
did  so,  that  she  was  too  far  off,  in  the  Maine  village, 
to  help  him  in  case  of  illness.     He  thought  of  Vera, 
passionately,  longingly ;  not,  as  he  had  hitherto  loved 
her,  for  her  girlhood,  but  with  keen  appreciation  of 
womanly  services.    He  envied  Lyell  the  ministrations 
of  his  wife.    A  home  seemed  the  most  desirable  thing 
in  life.    It  is  a  threat  of  advancing  middle  life  when 
the  world  looks  this  way,  when  the  beloved  becomes, 
not    a    lovely    isolated    image,    but    a    representative 
of  household  joys.     But  this  he  did  not  know.     He 
coveted  even  the  crayon  portraits  of  Sven  Svenson, 
in  so  far  as  they  stood  for  home;  and  then  he  fell 
asleep,  to  awake  in  glowing  morning,  as  right  as  a 
trivet,  and  with  an  enormous  appetite.     Middle  age 
held  at  bay,  and  youth  was  triumphant.    While 


282        THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

making  a  fresh  attack  on  his  dye,  he  indulged  in  schol 
arly  meditations. 

"I  am  going  to  write  an  article  that  will  electrify 
the  ethnographical  world,"  he  said,  "and  settle  for 
ever  the  question  as  to  whether  there  is  a  tendency 
on  the  part  of  settlers  in  America  to  revert  to  the  In 
dian  types.  Here,  as  soon  as  I  come  to  the  land  of 
the  Dakotahs,  I  bloom  out  like  a  red  man.  I  must 
be  full-blooded  Sioux  up  to  my  collar.  I  wonder  if 
it  will  show.  By  Jove,  I  wish  I  had  a  collar  to  put 
on.  I  wonder  why  that  Deutscher  does  not  bring  my 
clothes." 

There  was  no  bell,  but  he  pounded  on  wall  and  door. 
Finally,  in  desperation,  he  paraded  the  deserted  cor 
ridors  to  the  very  limits,  but  still  no  genial  German 
face,  no  responsive  garments.  Time,  after  its  invari 
able  habit,  went  on,  and  the  north-bound  express 
would  soon  be  due.  He  flung  open  the  window,  knelt 
beside  it  and  hailed  the  first  passer-by,  who  looked 
wildly  up  and  down,  in  response  to  his,  "Hi!" 

"Would  you  be  kind  enough  to  go  in  and  ask  the 
landlord  to  send  up  my  clothes  ?  I  am  very  anxious  to 
catch  the  train.  Thank  you."  And  when  at  last  he 
got  himself  into  the  stiffened  and  creased-at-all-the- 
wrong-places  trousers,  he  muttered  to  himself: 

"This  is  the  greatest  piece  of  luck  I  have  had.    Eric 


MORE   LUCK  283 

Svenson  will  take  me  for  a  backwoods  farmer,  and,' 
instead  of  vituperating  me  for  a  city  dude,  as  most  of 
them  do,  he  will  fall  upon  my  neck,  and  send  me  every 
bushel  of  his  grain!" 

One  may  become  quite  as  much  of  a  philosopher 
while  on  the  hunt  for  wheat  in  North  Dakota  as  when 
searching  for  an  honest  man  in  classic  Greece. 

And  after  Eric,  the  physical  duplicate  of  Sven,  had 
been  seen  and  successfully  interviewed,  Frank  pene 
trated  still  farther  up  the  Keewis  Valley,  which,  being 
off  the  beaten  track,  had  devoted  to  its  service  the 
oldest  and  shabbiest  cars  that  the  company  owned, 
cars  now  filled  chiefly  with  farm-hands. 

At  each  station  the  engine  uncoupled  to  do  switch 
ing  and  the  train  crew  loaded  and  unloaded  freight 
cars.  There  was  plenty  of  time  at  each  place  for  the 
energetic  grain  man  to  attack  a  few  prominent  citi 
zens,  and  get  here  and  there  the  promise  of  a  shipment 
— a  promise  generally  unfulfilled — while  the  bulk  of 
the  passengers  ran  to  the  adjacent  village  to  buy 
luncheons  with  which  they  returned  to  the  car  and 
held  high  carnival,  littering  the  floor  with  broken 
doughnuts  and  banana  skins,  and  indulging  in  pon 
derous  jokes  about  the  North  Railroad's  buffet  car, 
alternating  with  loud  requests  to  the  porter  to  make 
up  the  berths,  because  they  were  tired  of  this  delay. 


284         THE   PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

At  Olga,  Lenox  decided  to  go  no  farther  into  a 
hopeless  region,  but  to  await  the  down-coming  train 
and  get  back  to  the  main  line;  and  at  Olga,  accord 
ingly,  he  descended.  The  place  had  not  a  cheerful 
appearance,  for  the  station  doors  were  all  boarded  up 
with  old  grain  doors;  but  Frank  met  with  a  cheerful 
welcome  from  Judge  Higgs,  whose  aged  dignity  was 
enhanced  by  the  fact  that  he  had  the  honor  to  be  post 
master, — though,  to  judge  by  the  collapsed  state  of 
the  mail-bag  that  hung  awaiting  the  train,  the  po 
sition  was  not  an  onerous  one.  At  any  rate,  the  judge 
was  delighted  at  the  unusual  spectacle  of  any  one  get 
ting  off  at  Olga.  His  face  still  bore  traces  of  last 
week's  tobacco,  and  he  was  quite  deaf.  The  whole 
town  came  to  its  doors  to  listen  to  the  conversa 
tion  that  took  place  between  its  own  dignitary  and  the 
enterprising  stranger  within  its  gates.  Frank 
launched  into  a  dissertation  on  the  great  benefits  which 
would  come  to  a  thriving  town  like  Olga,  if  it  would 
start  a  farmers'  elevator,  which,  quite  incidentally  to 
its  sending  a  large  amount  of  grain  to  the  St.  Pierre 
Company,  would  prove  an  attraction  to  the  entire 
neighborhood,  luring  surrounding  farmers  to  trade 
in  the  vicinity,  and  thus  rushing  the  town  into  that 
vortex  of  "boom,"  for  which  it  had  been  waiting  for 
years.  The  idea  evidently  intoxicated  the  citizens, 


MORE   LUCK  285 

and  they  were  very  cordial  to  Frank.  The  general 
storekeeper  even  refused  to  accept  payment  for  five 
cents'  worth  of  prunes,  from  which  the  young  man 
made  a  frugal  lunch.  And  then  the  train  came,  a 
freight,  which  he  determined  to  take  in  order  to  get 
back  to  a  real  town  before  night,  to  avoid  the  country 
hostelry,  and  to  secure  a  good  night's  rest.  He  was 
learning  these  things. 

"Hello!"  said  the  conductor,  as  he  got  aboard.  "Got 
off  at  Olga,  did  ye?  Guess  you  must  be  green  at  it, 
sonny.  Never  knew  a  traveling  man  to  get  off  at 
Olga  before." 

The  ride  was  exciting  to  Frank's  inexperienced  eyes 
because  of  the  deeds  of  this  same  conductor,  a  true 
Irishman,  and  a  lover  of  a  fight.  The  tramp  was 
abroad  in  the  land,  and  the  official  was  having  his 
little  day.  He  would  drop  off,  while  the  train  was 
climbing  a  grade,  catch  the  truss-rods,  swing  under 
the  car,  and  deliver  his  personal  compliments  to  the 
ride  stealers.  One  of  the  tramps  threw  a  stone  at 
him  while  he  was  on  the  caboose,  and  the  conductor 
promptly  returned  fire  with  a  revolver,  but  neither 
of  them  hit. 

"Say,  there's  a  feller  on  those  truss-beams.  Watch 
me  make  him  happy,"  said  the  joyous  scrapper. 

He  took  a  piece  of  heavy  chain,  attached  it  to  a  long 


286         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

rope,  which  he  hung  at  the  end  of  the  box-car  and  low 
ered  until  the  great  links  dragged  and  sent  the  fine 
gravel  of  the  road-bed  rattling  and  peppering  the  un 
fortunate  creature  below. 

"Hear  him  swear  ?  Naw,  ye  can't  hear  him,  but  he's 
swearing,  just  the  same,"  the  Irishman  exclaimed 
rapturously.  "Haw,  crawl  on  to  the  brake-beams, 
would  ye?  I'll  fix  ye,  my  beauty!"  and  he  set  the 
brakes  until  they  'chattered,'  shaking  the  prisoned 
tramp  with  continuous  and  intolerable  jars. 

"Now  will  ye  get  off?"  he  cried  exultantly.  "You 
bet  ye  will !" 

The  conductor  went  his  way,  knowing  himself  vic 
torious. 

Happy  is  the  man  who  can  pound  a  fellow  man,  and 
do  his  duty  at  one  and  the  same  time.  That  con 
ductor  would  hardly  have  forfeited  the  proud  privi 
lege  of  fighting^tramps  to  be  division  superintendent. 

And  yet,  after  Lenox  had  finally  descended  and 
stood  a  moment  on  the  platform  of  the  station,  while 
the  train  zooned  past  him,  an  undetected  vagrant 
waved  a  triumphant  though  ragged  cap  from  the 
doorway  of  an  empty  box-car,  and  Lenox  paid  him 
the  tribute  of  an  elaborate  bow,  as  they  parted  for  ever. 

And  upon  this — these  contrasts  were  unbelievable — 
there  came  an  excellent  hotel  buzzing  with  conven- 


MORE   LUCK  287 

tional  life,  and  with  all  the  turmoil  of  civilization. 
Frank  took  his  appetizing  dinner,  chatted  with  a  thor 
oughly  informed  man  of  the  world,  spent  a  pleasing 
evening  at  a  pretty  provincial  theater,  and  went  to 
bed  to  wonder  at  the  methods  of  nature  and  of  man, 
when  between  them  they  start  in  to  "open  up"  a  new 
country.  For  these  things  alternated  in  streaks,  like 
the  fat  and  lean  of  bacon. 

Day  after  day,  night  after  night,  it  went  on.  The 
weeks  passed,  and  now  Lenox  found  himself  far  to 
the  north,  near  that,  Canadian  frontier  where,  it  is  re 
ported,  old  Boreas  keeps  his  blizzard  factory. 

A  loud  discussion  on  economics  was  raging  in  the 
car. 

"Reciprocity!"  He  heard  the  argument  come  to  a 
close.  "I  tell  you  there  can't  be  no  reciprocity  be 
tween  God's  country  and  Canada  until  we  can  equalize 
things  a  bit,  and  send  them  as  bad  weather  as  they 
send  us.  Look  at  this  storm!  This  is  the  kind  of 
thing  they  make  up  there.  I  tell  you  the  less  we  have 
to  do  with  anybody  that  is  fool  enough  to  live  up 
there,  the  better  for  us.  If  I  was  the  gov'ment  at 
Washington,  I'd  swing  the  Rocky  Mountains  around 
on  a  pivot,  and  string  'em  along  the  border,  and  make 
them  Canucks  keep  their  cold  winds  to  theirselves." 

Everybody  was  too  depressed  to  answer  this,  and  si- 


288        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

lence  fell  upon  the  car.  It  was  Sunday  night,  and 
the  snow  lay  heavily  across  the  northland.  The  train 
waited  to  start  from  a  tiny  junction  on  its  course  up 
a  small  branch  line.  Across  the  station,  the  great 
south-bound  express  puffed  nervously  as  it  halted  for 
a  brief  instant.  The  lights  of  the  comfortable  Pull 
mans  gleamed  warm  and  alluring  through  the  oncom 
ing  storm.  Frank  looked  longingly  at  it  through  the 
windows  of  the  mean,  poorly  lighted  day-coach  that 
was  good  enough  for  the  Meryton  branch.  Five  hun 
dred  miles  away  to  the  south  lay  St.  Etienne  and 
Vera  Windsor.  He  felt  the  lump  in  his  throat  like  a 
homesick  boy.  This  was  a  dog's  life ;  and  it  was  only 
three  days  now  to  the  dance  when,  he  had  hoped,  he 
might  see  her  and  touch  her.  Five  hundred  miles ! 

He  had  that  buoyant  courage  which  itself  fights 
half  of  every  battle — the  first  half — and  he  had  not 
been  afraid  of  this  rough  and  tumble  of  a  civilization 
in  the  making.  Each  opportunity  had  opened  out  an 
other,  until  the  route  originally  planned  had  spread 
in  all  directions.  He  was  far  from  through  with  his 
allotted  task,  though  he  had  added  to  it  frills  on  every 
side,  and  from  a  business  point  of  view  he  knew  that 
he  had  succeeded  in  making  a  goodly  record. 

Away  to  the  south  flew  the  big  train,  and  the  little 
one  waited  and  waited.  Hour  after  hour  passed. 


MORE   LUCK  289 

"Something  wrong  up  the  track,"  was  all  the  satisfac 
tion  that  impatient  passengers  could  get  out  of  taci 
turn  officials.  Already  eighteen  inches  of  snow  lay  on 
the  ground,  and  all  the  afternoon  the  clouds  had  been 
working  up  from  that  ominous  northwest  quarter. 
Now  the  blast  came.  Starlight  was  wiped  out  in  inky 
blackness.  The  wind  shrieked  in  at  the  casements  of  the 
miserable  car  and  howled  about  its  eaves  and  those 
of  the  station  beyond.  Snow  filled  every  crevice.  A 
tired  baby  cried  in  a  tired  mother's  arms  and  dropped 
asleep.  Lenox  tried  to  read  Jane  Eyre  by  the  light  of 
an  evil-smelling  lamp,  and  gave  it  up  to  stare  moodilv 
out  at  the  storm  and  to  fancy  how  horrible  it  would  be 
to  be  a  belated  traveler  abroad  on  the  prairie,  especially 
if  one  had  taken  too  much  "cold  tea"  before  starting 
on  his  journey. 

The  train  gave  a  discouraged  jerk,  as  though  it, 
too,  wished  that  it  could  have  gone  south  on  the 
through  express. 

"How  long  do  you  think  it  will  take  us  to  get  to 
Meryton  at  this  rate?" 

"Dunno,"  growled  the  conductor  shortly. 

The  train  stopped  and  waited  another  hour.  People 
went  to  sleep  in  various  attitudes  of  discomfort,  to 
doze  and  wake  and  doze  again  while  the  wind  rocked 
the  lonely  car  like  a  cradle.  And  the  final  wakening 


\ 


2QO         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

came  to  a  world  still  white  with  eddying  snow-drifts 
and  hemmed  in  with  gray  .wilderness. 

On  the  platform  Lenox  found  a  brakeman  who  vol 
unteered  the  information:  "By  the  time  they  get 
the  darned  old  bridge  mended,  we'll  be  blocked  by 
darned  old  snow-drifts.  What's  the  use  of  kicking 
anyhow  ?" 

All  day  the  train  stood  still  with  that  impenetrable 
whiteness  accumulating  like  a  wall  in  front  of  it.  So 
ciety  organized  itself  by  the  natural  methoci ;  the  pas 
sengers  thus  flung  together  by  fortune  were  all  on 
speaking  terms,  even  speaking  of  each  other  to  each 
other  behind  his  or  her  back. 

The  passengers  read  and  re-read  the  directions  on 
the  backs  of  the  telegraph  blanks,  the  only  literary 
pabulum  to  be  found.  Occasionally  the  engine  gave 
a  heavy  bull-like  bunt  at  the  drift  and  retired  more 
discouraged  than  ever. 

Once  excitement  rose  to  a  fever  heat.  A  small, 
much-be-muffled  boy  appeared  at  the  car  door,  pushing 
before  him  a  basket  many  sizes  too  large  for  him.  He 
spoke  into  the  monotony : 

"Anybody  want  milk  or  pie?" 

He  was  almost  upset  in  the  onslaught.  Hands  be 
gan  to  grab  while  the  new  Ganymede  looked  on  in 
tearful  impotence,  until  Lenox  seized  him  and  put  him 


MORE   LUCK  291 

in  a  corner,  saying,  "Use  this  ledge  for  a  counter,  my 
lad,  and  I'll  see  that  you  get  fair  play." 

"That's  square !" 

"Give  the  lady  with  the  baby  a  whack  at  the  milk, 
can't  you?" 

"I'll  auction  it  off  for  you.  Ladies  and  gentlemen, 
what  am  I  offered  for  this  remarkable  piece  of  pie, 
guaranteed  like  mother  used  to  make,  or  money  re 
funded  ?  It  goes  to  the  highest  bidder." 

So  little  Ole  trotted  back  and  forth  from  the  farm 
of  the  Olsons,  and  reaped  a  golden  harvest. 

"Say,  let's  have  a  christening  ceremony  for  this 
car,"  remarked  the  witty  philosopher,  who  is  found 
wherever  two  or'  three  are  gathered  together. 

"What  do  you  want  to  name  it  ?"  asked  the  accom 
modating  person  who  always  asks  what  is  expected 
from  him. 

"Well,  it's  painted  on  the  outside,  'Kankakee,'  but 
I'd  sooner  call  it  the  'Steadfast.' "  There  were  several 
ponderous  but  hollow  laughs,  and  humor's  stock  ebbed 
low. 

Toward  evening  the  train  began  to  move  slowly 
back,  with  heavy  groans  from  the  wheezy  locomotive. 
Lenox  sought  the  nonchalant  conductor  in  frank  dis 
may. 

"Aw,"  said  that  functionary,  "'taint  no  use.    The 


292        THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

bridge  ain't  safe  and  the  snow  blocks  us  anyway.  We 
can't  get  through." 

"When  is  the  next  train  to  start?"  Frank  was  in 
clined  to  be  insistent. 

"This  train,  sir,"  the  conductor  replied,  with  official 
humor,  "runs  every  day  except  week  days  and  most  of 
the  winter.  Aw,  they  can't  clear  the  track  for  as  little 
traffic  as  there  is  on  this  branch.  Mebbe  'twon't  be 
open  till  spring." 

Thus,  when  more  than  twenty-four  hours  had 
elapsed  from  the  time  of  starting,  the  "accommoda 
tion,"  routed,  returned  to  Leveret  Junction.  Lenox 
sent  a  telegram  to  Mr.  Holton. 

"Have  covered  all  the  ground  proposed,  except 
Meryton  Branch,  which  is  blocked  by  snow.  Where 
do  you  wish  me  to  go  ?" 

He  pretended  to  himself  that  he  was  quite  indiffer 
ent  to  the  answer  to  this  message,  but  when  it  came, 
"Come  back  to  St.  Etienne,"  the  leaping  of  his  pulses 
gave  the  lie  to  the  flimsy  deception. 

After  another  long  period  of  waiting,  he  heard,  far 
off  through  the  stillness  of  the  early  morning,  a 
sound  of  joy — he  heard  the  distant  whistle  and  then 
the  arriving  roar  of  an  express,  making  a  symphony 
of  triumph.  The  black  porter  in  the  sleeping  car 
looked  like  a  guardian  angel;  and,  after  he  was  laid 


MORE   LUCK  293 

away  on  his  shelf,  between  the  starchy  sheets,  the 
rhythmic  thump-thump  sang  a  lullaby,  as  the  train 
rushed  southward  through  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A   WALK   AND  A   DANCE 

The  day  was  young,  the  air  was  crisp,  the  sky  of  a 
primary  blue,  as  Vera  Windsor,  buoyant  from  the 
crown  of  her  head  to  her  feet,  too  buoyant  for  the 
prosaic  inside  of  a  carriage,  started  to  walk  down 
town.  The  sound  of  brisk  footsteps  behind  reechoed 
her  own  joy  in  activity,  and  she  turned  with  a  radiant 
greeting,  as  Mr.  Kemyss  joined  her.  To  him,  too,  the 
world  looked  fair.  He  was  square  with  Timothy  Nor 
ton,  and  no  one  was  the  wiser  as  to  their  relations. 
The  wretched  old  debt  that  had  been  rolling  up  like  a 
snowball  for  the  past  two  years  was  canceled.  He  had 
even  a  thousand  or  two  to  spare.  He  could  face  the 
world  with  freedom.  He  and  his  fellow  conspirator 
had  not  even  met  face  to  face,  so  simple  a  thing  had  it 
proved  to  hoodwink  the  dull  old  world.  He  even  began 
to  take  an  interest  in  other  people's  affairs,  and  Mrs. 
Lyell  had  for  him  the  fascination  that  the  scene  of 
his  crime  is  supposed  to  hold  for  the  murderer. 

294 


A  WALK  AND   A   DANCE          295 

"Do  you  know  how  Lyell  is  getting  on  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  have  just  come  from  there.  It  is  quite  certain 
now  that  he  will  regain  his  sight.  Of  course,  his  wife 
is  exultant.  But  his  face,  Mr.  Kemyss,  is  like  a  gar 
goyle.  It  has  hardly  a  human  semblance.  He  will  be  a 
monster  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  and  she  does  not  seem 
to  know  it.  She  is  so  devoted  that  she  has  lost  all  con 
sciousness  of  how  he  will  look  to  other  people.  Of 
course  she  would  love  him  all  the  more,  since  he  paid 
that  price  for  her." 

Now,  knowing  what  he  did,  this  naturally  amused 
Mr.  Kemyss  very  much,  and  it  also  greatly  relieved 
him. 

"Then  perhaps  he  was  a  lucky  fellow  to  get  a  chance 
to  prove  himself  a  hero  in  the  eyes  of  the  woman  he 
loves.  Life  is  usually  so  humdrum  that  most  men  never 
have  the  opportunity  to  show  that  side  of  themselves." 

"Oh,  I  believe  there  is  a  good  deal  of  genuine  man 
liness  in  the  world  in  spite  of  our  sophistications.  It 
shows  in  little  things  as  well  as  in  great  ones."  She 
spoke  softly,  even  tenderly,  and  Kemyss  looked  at  her 
with  a  glow  of  something  almost  warmer  than  admira 
tion.  It  was  plain  to  him  that  she  regarded  him  in  a 
favorable  light. 

"Still  Lyell  is  rather  a  dull  fellow,"  he  went  on.  "I 
wonder  how  it  will  be  in  years  to  come  when  Mrs. 


296        THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

Lyell  has  recovered  from  her  present  spasm  of  admira 
tion.  She  will  always  be  superlative,  you  know.  She 
may  end  as  a  Roman  Catholic,  or  she  may  end  as  a 
Buddhist,  but,  whatever  she  is,  it  will  be  with  all  her 
might." 

"Yes,  I  admit  that  is  true.  It  took  me  a  long  time 
to  find  it  out.  I  used  to  think  her  enthusiasm  was  a 
testimony  to  the  truth  of  her  ideas." 

"No,  it  is  merely  a  matter  of  temperament." 

"Well,  one  is  always  inclined  to  believe  what  some 
one  else  believes  very  hard.  You  were  clever  to  read 
her  so  clearly."  But  Vera  spoke  as  though  she  did  not 
like  his  diagnosis.  "Really,  though,"  she  said,  bright 
ening,  "Mr.  Lyell  is  not  stupid.  I  suppose  he  has  fallen 
into  a  habit  of  reticence  through  all  these  years.  Mrs. 
Lyell  says  he  used  never  to  talk.  But  now  he  has 
opened  up,  and  I  assure  you  he  is  a  delightful  com 
panion.  I  think  his  ideas  have  grown  fine  through  his 
very  genuineness.  Perhaps,  if  one  lives  the  truth,  one 
•can  not  help  knowing  the  truth." 

"It  is  a  great  pity,  Miss  Windsor,  that  you  can  not 
enter  the  pulpit."  He  could  not  resist  giving  her  this 
thrust  for  the  thing  in  her  that  he  least  liked. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  preachy?" 

"I  think  it  is  a  great  pity  that  a  girl  so  young  and," 
—he  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  as  if  it  would  come 


A   WALK   AND    A    DANCE  297 

out,  added,  "so  beautiful  as  yourself,  should  be  regard 
ing  the  world  chiefly  as  a  lesson  in  ethics." 

"And  what  is  it,  then?" 

"A  place  to  have  a  good  time  in,  at  least  while  you 
are  young.  And  Mrs.  Lyell  is  having  a  great  deal 
more  fun  than  you  are,  at  present,  because  she  is  play 
ing  with  love  and  not  with  morals.  That  is  the  great 
game,  Miss  Windsor." 

She  did  not  look  up,  but  a  warm  glow  spread  over 
her  face. 

"Mrs.  Lyell  is  playing  with  the  combination  of  love 
and  morals  at  last,  I  think,"  she  said.  "I  have  an  er 
rand  here.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Kemyss." 

And  Kemyss  strode  on  to  the  office  with  a  happy 
and  supercilious  expression,  betokening  that  he  had 
just  made  a  great  hit,  and  was  superior  to  the  grubbing 
humanity  through  which  he  passed.  Everything  was 
coming  to  him. 

In  the  early  evening  of  late  November,  Lenox's 
train  steamed  into  St.  Etienne.  It  was  the  through 
train  from  the  Pacific,  delayed  by  northern  snows  until 
it  was  exactly  twenty-four  hours  late,  and  so  could 
conscientiously  be  posted  as  "on  time." 

How  delicious  was  this  rush  of  city  life,  after  the 
unmitigated  nature  of  Leveret  Junction!  The  abrupt 
glares  and  shadows  of  the  electric  lights,  the  dashes 


298         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

of  color  in  lighted  shop-windows,  the  rush  and  mur 
mur  of  home-returning  crowds,  the  cry  of  newsboys, 
and  the  imperative  whizz  of  heavily  laden  electrics, 
made  harmony  for  Frank's  eyes  and  ears.  The  almost 
strange  city  looked  like  home;  even  the  impersonal 
hotel  room  looked  like  home.  Waiting  on  his  mantel 
shelf  was  a  pile  of  letters,  the  dear  missives  from  his 
mother,  the  gossip  of  old  friends,  the  signals  from 
other  boys,  who,  like  himself,  had  gone  out  from  the 
New  England  home  to  leaven  the  land  with  Puritan 
blood.  He  seized  them  eagerly,  and  uttered  an  excla 
mation  of  impatience  as  there  came  a  rap  at  his  door. 

"They  told  me  down  stairs  that  you  was  just  back 
this  minute,"  said  Repburn's  drawl.  "It  seemed  too 
good  to  be  true,  after  all  I've  been  through,  to  think 
you  was  really  here.  Upon  my  word,  I  need  a  friend." 

Lenox  laid  down  his  letters  and  tried  to  assume  a 
hospitable  air. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said.  "What's  up  now?  So  you've 
come  back  to  St.  Etienne  after  all  ?" — as  though  the 
question  were  unnecessary,  still  less  the  lengthy  an 
swer. 

"Yes,  I'm  back.  I'm  back.  I've  come  back  to  St. 
Etienne,  and  I  hoped  to  goodness  I'd  never  do  it  again. 
But  I  might  have  known  all  that  good  luck  was  too 
good  for  me.  It  just  had  to  turn.  Say,  If  there's  any 


A   WALK   AND    A   DANCE  299 

such  thing  as  a  goddess  of  fate,  she'd  ought  to  be 
throttled." 

Lenox  now  resigned  himself  altogether.  After  all, 
it  was  several  hours  before  the  ball,  and  he  had  to  put 
in  his  time  in  some  fashion.  Repburn  crossed  his  legs 
and  took  a  comfortable  position,  preparatory  to  aban 
doning  himself  to  the  luxury  of  rehearsing  his  woes. 

"This  is  how  it  was.  Uncle  Henry  was  just  too  de 
lighted  to  see  me.  Poor  old  feller,  he  was  all  laid  up, 
and  mighty  lonely,  I  can  tell  you!  You'd  'a'  thought 
nothing  ever  happened  between  us.  All  he  wanted  to 
keep  him  contented  was  just  for  me  to  sit  around  and 
read  to  him  and  tell  him  about  the  great  wicked  West, 
and  what  an  old  reprobate  Nick  Windsor  was.  It  is  a 
real  satisfaction  to  think  that,  when  some  of  us  ain't 
gettin'  our  fair  show,  still  some  of  these  men  that  seem 
to  be  havin'  everythin'  in  the  world  are  such  old  sin 
ners  that  they  are  sure  to  get  their  come-uppance  when 
they  cross  Jordan.  Uncle  Henry  was  tickled  to  death, 
and  so  was  every  one  else.  So  we  had  a  very  pleasant 
time  for  a  few  days,  and  I  was  gettin'  really  fond  of 
the  old  boy,  when,  of  course,  it  had  to  go  and  happen." 

"What  had  to  happen?" 

"Let's  see.  To-day's  the  twenty-fourth.  Well,  it 
was  just  twelve  days  ago  to-day,  I  was  helpin'  him 
across  from  a  sofy  to  his  chair,  and  some  one  had  been 


300         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

careless  enough  to  leave  a  kind  of  a  hole  in  the  carpet. 
Darned  if  I  don't  think  it  was  a  piece  of  spite  on  some 
one's  part." 

"Why,  he  didn't  blame  you  for  it,  did  he?" 
"Blame  me?  Why,  he  never  got  the  chance.  As  I 
told  you,  I  was  liftin'  him,  and,  sir,  if  my  foot  didn't 
catch  in  that  hole,  and  down  I  went,  and  him  under 
me.  If  you'll  believe  me,  he  never  spoke  again,  and 
two  days  afterward  he  died.  And  the  trouble  was,  he 
had  not  made  his  will.  The  old  villain,  after  he'd  got 
me  to  go  clear  on  there,  and  after  me  taking  care  of  him 
and  everything  he  had  to  go  and  die  without  makin' 
the  will  he  promised !" 

"He  probably  intended  to,  but  hadn't  time." 
"Well,  I  hope  so,  for  the  sake  of  his  immortal  soul. 
I  hope  his  intentions  were  better  than  his  acts;  but  it 
was  a  mean  trick  to  play  on  a  feller." 

"Why,  you  come  in  for  the  money  anyway,  don't 
you?" 

"Don't  you  remember,"  asked  Mr.  Repburn  in  a 
grieved  voice,  "don't  you  remember  that  I  wrote  you 
that  Uncle  Henry  had  a  daughter?  She  is  an  unre- 
generate,  I  can  tell  you,  if  one  ever  lived  on  this  earth. 
She  came  postin'  up  to  Winterhaven,  she  and  her  hus 
band,  almost  before  Uncle  Henry  was  cold,  and  just 
as  sassy  as  if  she  had  a  right  there." 


A    WALK   AND    A    DANCE  301 

"She  did,  you  know,"  observed  Lenox. 

"Legally,  I  suppose,  but  not  by  any  higher  law.  I 
represented  to  her  in  the  strongest  terms  I  knew  how 
what  was  her  duty,  but  it  didn't  do  no  good.  I  told  her 
that  as  Uncle  Henry  intended  I  should  have  every 
thing  the  least  she  could  do  was  to  divide  even.  And 
do  you  know,  sir,  her  husband  had  the  audacity  to  tell 
me  to  leave  the  house.  He  said  that  I  was  answerable 
for  the  old  man's  death,  and  I'd  ought  to  be  thankful 
that  they  didn't  have  me  arrested  for  murder.  Yes, 
sir,  that's  the  way  they  talked  to  me.  They  won't  have 
any  good  come  to  them  with  the  money  they  get,  and 
thank  the  Lord,  they  didn't  get  it  all." 

"Then  y^our  uncle  did  make  some  will  ?" 

"No,  he  didn't  make  no  will.  But  I  had  lived  there 
in  the  house  with  him,  and  I  knew  his  ways.  I  knew 
he  had  some  money  hidden  somewheres ;  and  just  as 
soon  as  I  realized  that  he  was  dead,  I  turned  to  and 
hunted.  I've  had  more  bad  luck  than  any  man  I  know, 
but  for  once,  I  had  my  turn.  I  found  it  in  an  old  sofy 
cushion  before  ever  she  turned  up.  I  suspected  that 
cushion,  because  uncle  was  so  particular  about  always 
havin'  it  under  his  head.  And  you  can  just  bet  I  didn't 
say  a  word  to  her  about  it.  By  everything  that's  right, 
I'd  ought  to  have  clost  on  thirty  thousand,  and  do  you 
think  I  was  called  on  to  give  up  that  little  bit,  and 


302         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

leave  myself  penniless  ?  No,  siree !  It  would  have  beert 
wicked  for  me  to  do  so." 

"How  much  was  it  that  you  stole  ?" 

"Stole!  Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  Repburn 
looked  perturbed.- 

"I  have  an  idea  that  is  what  the  law,  and  Uncle 
Henry's  daughter,  would  call  it,"  said  Lenox. 

"Oh,  come,  you're  jokin'!  This  was  equity,  and 
that's  higher  than  law,  ain't  it?  Well,  sir,  it  amounted 
to  clost  on  two  thousand  dollars,  and  it's  goin'  to  be 
the  making  of  me.  I  tell  you,  in  a  country  like  this 
there's  lots  of  opportunities  to  make  money,  and  I've 
begun  my  career  already."  He  swelled  out  his  chest 
and  grew  important. 

Frank  choked  a  moment,  then  laughed.  After  all, 
what  was  the  use  in  his  interfering?  He  might  only 
make  matters  worse,  so  he  said : 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"I've  gone  into  business  with  a  feller  here.  I  see  an 
'ad'  in  one  of  the  papers  the  day  after  I  got  here — and 
that's  four  days  ago — saying  that  there  was  a  good 
business  opportunity  for  a  man  with  a  small  amount  of 
capital ;  and  I  says  to  myself,  'That's  me !'  So  I  looked 
it  up,  and  it's  all  right.  My  partner  is  a  smart  kind  of 
a  man,  and  I'll  bet  he  knows  how  to  make  money.  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it." 


A   WALK   AND    A   DANCE  303 

"You'll  have  to  wait  until  some  other  time,"  said 
Frank.  "I've  just  come  back  to  town,  and  it's  late,  and 
I've  had  no  dinner.  It's  time  I  got  a  bite  and  dressed." 

"Undressed,  you  mean.  What  do  you  want  to  dress 
for  at  this  time  of  night  ?" 

"I'm  going  to  a  dance." 

"You're  going  to  a  dance  ?  Gee  whizz !  Who  invites 
you  to  a  dance  ?"  Frank  could  not  help  laughing  at  his 
impertinence. 

"Your  benefactress." 

"Miss  Windsor?  Is  Miss  Windsor  inviting  you  to 
a  dance?  Say,  Lenox,  you're  jokin'  again.  You  ain't 
that  thick  with  them."  Then  he  added,  enviously : 

"You  just  wait  till  I've  made  my  everlastin'  fortune 
the  way  I'm  bound  to  with  this  new  scheme  of  mine, 
and  I  guess  the  Windsors  '11  be  sweet  on  me,  too." 

"Repburn,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  clear  out  of 
here,  and  give  me  a  chance  to  take  a  bath  ?"  demanded 
Lenox,  at  the  end  of  his  rope. 

Two  or  three  hours  later  he  shook  hands  with  an  im 
posing  line  of  receiving  ladies,  who  mumbled  inarticu 
lately  in  palpable  ignorance  of  his  name,  and  pushed 
on  boldly  through  the  crowd.  His  eyes  lighted  at  last 
as  he  saw  her  standing  amid  a  bevy  of  friends  near  the 
dancing-room  door.  He  felt  that  till  now  he  had  not 
appreciated  her  beauty.  It  needed  the  background  of 


304         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY, 

lovely  faces  and  shoulders,  and  the  glimmer  of  silks 
and  laces  to  reveal  her. 

The  musicians  were  going  through  their  usual  pre 
liminary  anguish  before  striking  up  the  first  two-step, 
and  people  screamed  to  make  themselves  heard.  Before 
her  stood  two  or  three  men,  and  as  he  neared  them,  he 
found  that  she  was  saying : 

"No,  no,  that  is  final.  I  have  positively  vowed  not 
to  dance  this  except, — why,  there  he  is  now !" 

She  had  turned  her  face  toward  him,  and  she  put 
out  her  hand. 

"Mr.  Lenox,  I  did  not  expect  and  hardly  recognized 
you.  Really,  how  you  have  changed!  The  last  time  I 
saw  you  I  was  under  the  impression  that  you  combed 
your  hair  with  a  match,  and  your  collar — "  She  gave  a 
little  gasp.  "I  am  ashamed  of  myself,  that  I  can  laugh 
at  any  memories  of  that  dreadful  time.  What  must 
you  think  of  me  ?  And  how  do  we  dare  to  do  this  kind 
of  thing,  when  such  horrors  are  in  the  world  ?" 

"Because  we  can't  afford  to  let  the  shadow  of  death 
darken  all  life,  nor  can  we  dress  in  perpetual  black. 
We  must  take  the  world  as  we  find  it  in  all  its  various 
moods.  I've  been  seeing  several  of  them  of  late,  Miss 
Windsor." 

"And  so  have  I.  I've  been  working  on  the  relief 
committee  for  the  people  who  were  left  destitute  by  the 


A   WALK   AND    A    DANCE  305 

fire.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  poor  creature  in 
rags,  who  refused  to  take  a  jacket  because  the  sleeves 
were  last  year's  cut.  She  said  there  had  been  such  a 
change  in  this  season's  styles  that  she  would  be 
ashamed  to  be  seen  in  it." 

"Well,  isn't  it  lucky  that  there  is  some  comedy 
leavening  every  tragedy?" 

"And  often  I  think  there  is  some  tragedy  leavening 
every  comedy,  and  redeeming  it  from  "the  common 
place." 

"Are  you  thinking  now  of  Pine  Vale  or  of  Rep- 
burn  ?" 

"Perhaps  I  am  thinking  of  myself." 

"You  are  neither  comedy  nor  tragedy." 

"What  then?" 

"Lyric  poetry.  But,  come,"  he  added  quickly,  "we 
are  here  to  play  to-night,  are  we  not  ?  The  two-step  is 
well  under  way." 

"Yes,  dance.  I  love  it!"  she  exclaimed,  and  he  put 
his  arm  around  her  waist,  as  blissfully  happy  as  any 
right-minded  boy  could  be. 

Ah,  that  rhythmic  movement  over  gleaming  floors 
and  under  mellow  softened  lights !  How  it  sets  the 
pulses  in  tune !  The  swirl  of  silken  skirts,  the  glimpses 
of  lustrous  eyes,  the  couples,  self-absorbed,  speak  to 
the  senses  of  the  mating  that  has  gone  on  in  the  good 


306        THE    PRIZE    TO    THE   HARDY 

old  world  since  the  morning  stars  sang  together.  The 
serene  older  pairs  look  on,  as  if  ready  to  assure  the 
young  things  that,  having  tried  him,  they  have  found 
Love  a  fulfiller  of  all  his  promises.  Dancing  was  in 
vented  that  soft  breaths  and  snowy  shoulders  should 
repeat  the  same  story. 

At  least,  this  was  Francis  Lenox's  interpretation  of 
the  spiritual  meaning  in  a  two-step,  on  that  November 
evening  in  St.  Etienne. 

And  then  the  dance  was  over,  and  another  man 
claimed  her.  After  all,  the  ball  was  the  usual  ordinary 
assemblage  of  assorted  humanity,  and  some  of  the 
women  had  on  too  much  powder.  He  waited  eagerly 
until  his  turn  might  come  again,  and  although  he  dared 
not  speak  or  hint  of  all  that  was  in  him,  yet  every  com 
monplace  sounded  to  his  own  ears  like  the  most  ardent 
love-making.  When  a  man  is  in  this  fine  electric  con 
dition,  obtuse  indeed  must  be  the  maid  who  does  not 
thrill  responsive  to  his  passion.  Vera  was  not  obtuse  to 
the  song  without  words. 

Frank  followed  her  and  Mr.  Windsor  to  their  car 
riage,  to  receive  a  cordial  hand-shake  from  her  father, 
whom  he  now  regarded  with  almost  reverential  awe. 

"If  this  weather  keeps  up,"  the  old  man  said,  as  a 
cold  blast  struck  them  at  the  door,  "we  shall  be  having 
ice-yachting  in  a  few  days.  Vera,  you  must  get  up  a 


A   WALK   AND    A   DANCE  307 

party.  Lenox,  you'd  like  to  get  a  taste  of  it.   It's  great 
old  sport." 

Vera  went  home  too  strangely  excited  to  sleep,  and 
Frank  rather  envied  the  belated  gamin  whom  he  saw 
hanging  on  behind  her  carriage  as  it  rolled  smoothly 
over  the  asphalt. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

ICE-BOATING 

In  front  of  the  club-house,  fluttering  on  the  glassy 
surface  of  Lake  Imnijaska,  stood  a  group  of  ice-boats, 
poised  like  sea-gulls  impatient  for  flight.  Occasionally 
a  gusty  breeze,  catching  a  sail,  set  it  tugging  and  utter 
ing  quick  moans  of  protest  at  the  delay.  Even  the 
runners  moved  uneasily,  as  though  they  were  aerial 
things  longing  to  spurn  the  glittering  solid  below,  and 
lift  themselves  in  an  ecstasy  of  motion.  The  sky  over 
head  dazzled  the  eyes  by  its  intensity  of  blue — not  the 
pink  liquid  blue  of  the  south,  but  an  unadulterated 
passion  of  blue  which  found  its  reflection  in  great 
stretches  of  almost  equally  intense  ice.  The  wind  had 
swept  bare  the  ice,  but  on  the  shores  the  snow  was 
piled  in  blinding  whiteness  against  which  naked  trunks 
of  the  birch-trees  looked  almost  dingy. 

The  white  oaks,  clinging  in  miserly  fashion  to  their 
crumpled  dead  leaves,  gave  one  the  impression  of  care 
less  countrymen  who  had  gone  to  bed  with  their  clothes 

308 


ICE-BOATING  309 

on.  Here  and  there  a  summer  cottage  peeped  sheep 
ishly  and  chillily  from  out  the  bleak  trees,  a  little 
ashamed  of  itself  to  be  found  in  undress,  flowerless 
and  hammockless,  its  wide  piazzas  bare  of  lounging 
chairs  and  inviting  pillows,  and  the  broad  lawns  only 
a  smooth  expanse  of  snow  in  the  place  of  green  velvet. 

But  little  recked  the  group  of  gay  young  people 
laughing  on  the  ice,  of  anything  save  the  brilliancy  of 
the  day  and  the  steely  exhilaration  of  the  crisp  dry  air. 
Dancing  blood,  like  tugging  sails,  called  out  for  move 
ment.  Every  one  was  bundled  up  to  the  ears,  and  each 
was  half-amused  at  the  appearance  of  the  other. 
Kemyss  was  there,  dressed  as  became  a  practised  ice- 
yachtsman,  but  looking  bigger  than  ever  from  his 
waist  upward;  Windsor,  because  of  the  more  frigid 
blood  of  older  years,  stamped  to  keep  warm,  in  long 
fur  overcoat  and  cap  with  ear  tabs.  Others,  less  pre 
pared  for  emergencies  of  this  kind,  wore  anything  and 
everything,  as  regardless  of  appearances  as  the  average 
football  player.  Of  the  feminine  half,  be  it  said,  that, 
though  the  swathing  furs  might  wipe  out  all  distinc 
tions  of  figure,  they  formed  always  a  piquant  and  be 
coming  background  for  faces  whose  heightened  com 
plexion  and  brightened  eyes  paid  tribute  to  the  day. 

"Your  color  is  a  delight!  You  are  like  a  spot  of 
vivid  human  interest  in  this  world  of  dazzling  white." 


310         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

Kemyss  spoke  approvingly  to  Vera,  who,  in  short- 
skirted  toboggan  suit  of  scarlet,  with  high  gaiters  and 
fluttering  tasseled  toque  to  match,  and  with  big  collar 
and  gloves  of  fur,  looked  the  embodiment  of  vitality. 
She  was  ready  for  anything.  When  he  saw  .her  flash 
a  pleased  glance  at  Kemyss,  Lenox  cursed  himself  for 
not  being  the  first  to  say  the  words  that  a  moment  be 
fore  he  had  thought  better  unsaid.  Frank  felt  a  hand 
on  his  arm  and  whirled  around. 

"I  want  to  introduce  you  to  Miss  Preston,  Mr. 
Lenox,"  said  Windsor,  and  the  young  man  found  him 
self  bowing  to  a  mass  of  furs,  a  glint  of  fair  hair  and  a 
pair  of  large  blue  eyes  that  looked  at  him  coquettishly. 

"The  IVabasso  is  waiting  for  us.  Do  you  think  you 
can  hold  Miss  Preston  in,  Frank  ?" 

"You  know  it  is  my  first  experience  in  ice-boating, 
Mr.  Lenox !"  The  voice  was  plaintive  and  the  big  eyes 
looked  appealing. 

"Then  we  will  live  and  die  together,  Miss  Preston ; 
I'm  only  a  midshipmite  myself." 

He  began  gallantly  to  help  her  into  the  big  net  that 
swung  between  the  pulsing  rudders  and  to  heap  rugs 
around  her,  while  internally  he  was  wondering  why 
the  Lord  made  blonde  girls,  and  watching  from  the 
corner  of  his  eye  the  laughing  embarcation  of  Vera  and 
Kemyss  on  the  Polar  Star,  that  fluttered  near  them. 


ICE-BOATING  311 

"Lucky  it's  freezing !  It's  not  so  pleasant  ice-boating 
when  there  are  pools  of  water  on  the  ice,"  said  Wind 
sor. 

"Why  not?" 

"Well,  if  a  fellow  gets  thrown  off,  he  goes  scooting 
across  the  surface,  and  like  as  not  the  water  that  goes 
into  his  trousers'  legs  comes  out  at  his  neck.  Hold  on 
tight,  now !" 

Miss  Preston  shrieked  in  dismay. 

An  ice-boat  does  not,  like  everything  else  that  moves, 
get  up  speed.  One  instant  it  is  at  rest,  the  next  it  moves 
on  the  wings  of  the  wind. 

"Are  you  ready  ?"  Windsor's  hand  was  on  the  tiller, 
and  only  his  eyes  showed  through  a  narrow  crevice 
above  the  collar  and  below  the  cap.  Some  one  behind 
caught  the  IVabasso,  and  threw  her  around.  Miss 
Preston  gave  a  cry  and  a  lurch.  Frank  gasped,  caught 
her  hand,  and  carried  it  to  the  railing.  He  was  glad 
to  fly, — more  than  fly.  Not  only  conversation,  but  even 
thought  was  out  of  the  question.  There  was  nothing 
in  the  world  but  the  rush  of  blue  above,  the  rush  of 
white  below,  and  the  scream  of  rigging. 

Miss  Preston,  huddled  among  the  rugs,  gave  con 
stant  moans  of  mingled  rapture  and  terror.  She  wholly 
forgot  the  agreeable  things  she  had  intended  the  good- 
looking  young  stranger  to  say.  Suddenly  there  was  a 


312         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

long  scraping  sound  that  jarred  after  the  smooth  flight 
and  the  Wabasso  whirled  up  into  the  wind. 

"There,  look  back  and  see  where  we  have  come 
from !"  Windsor  spoke  as  calmly  as  if  the  flight  of  an 
eagle  was  an  every-day  experience.  The  two  young 
people  peered  back  over  the  great  stretch  to  where 
some  microscopic  figures  dotted  the  whiteness. 

"Good  heavens,  do»you  mean  to  tell  me  that  we've 
come  all  that  distance  ?"  exclaimed  the  girl. 

"It's  great !"  said  Frank. 

"About  four  miles  in  about  four  minutes,"  Windsor 
said  proudly.  "They'll  have  to  get  up  early  if  they 
want  to  beat  the  Wabasso.  Look  out  for  the  boom, 
now,  we'll  be  coming  about !" 

Lenox  ducked  his  head  automatically,  but  his  mind 
and  eyes  were  fixed  about  a  mile  away,  on  a  skimming 
sail,  with  a  bit  of  black  and  a  dash  of  red  beneath.  He 
would  have  liked  to  eliminate  the  bit  of  black. 

"Let  me  take  the  tiller,"  Vera  had  asked  imploringly 
of  her  companion.  "I've  always  wanted  to,  and  I  be 
lieve  I  can  beguile  you  into  letting  me." 

"You  must  keep  a  steady  hand,  and  not  lose  your 
nerve  for  a  moment,"  said  Kemyss.  "One  instant's 
hesitation,  and  we  should  find  ourselves  climbing  a 
tree  on  the  shore." 

"Are  you  afraid  to  come  with  me  ?"  she  laughed. 


ICE-BOATING  313 

"I  am  very  much  afraid  lest  some  accident  should 
happen  to  you." 

He  looked  gravely  at  her,  and  for  one  wild  instant 
she  wished  that  she  had  not  come  off  with  him  alone. 
At  the  club-house  every  one  had  taken  for  granted 
in  the  most  abominable  manner  that  they  would  go  to 
gether.  There  was  no  time  to  think  of  that  now.  She 
must  mind  her  course. 

Kemyss  watched  her  eyes,  steady  and  resolute,  and 
gleaming  with  physical  delight.    No  man  with   red 
blood  in  him,  he  thought,  could  help  admiring  her. 
The  yacht  slowed  in  a  narrow  bay  under  her  guidance. 
"Did  you  need  to  ask  me  whether  I  was  afraid  to  go 
anywhere— anywhere,  with  you?"  he  asked. 
"Please  don't !" 

"Well  then,  I  won't— yet.  How  are  Mrs.  Lyell  and 
her  husband  getting  along?  You've  had  rather  a  sever 
ing  of  that  tie,  haven't  you  ?" 

"I  think  I  love  Jean  more  than  ever,"  she  said 
sharply.  Something  hopeful  in  his  tone  irritated  her. 
"You  used  to  say  that  you  fully  sympathized  with  her 
thought.  You  couldn't  express  enough  on  the  subject. 
And  now,  whenever  you  speak  of  her  it  is  with  a  slur." 
"In  a  certain  way,  yes."  He  felt  this  was  a  crisis. 
Could  he  let  her  down  from  her  foolish  fancies  without 
tumbling  into  the  abyss  himself?  He  spoke  with  de- 


314        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

liberation.  "I  am  an  idealist  in  my  views,  as  you  know, 
but  I  think  Mrs.  Lyell  has  hardly  learned  the  proper 
application  of  her  philosophy  to  life.  We  live  among 
real  people,  you  know,  and  we  have  to  adapt  ourselves 
to  them." 

He  looked  at  her  to  see  how  she  took  it  so  far. 

"I  don't  care  a  button  whether  you  or  I  are  any  kind 
of  'ists'  or  not,"  she  said  frivolously.  "If  you  are  trying 
to  be  all  things  to  all  men,  I  don't  want  to  think  about 
it.  I  want  to  ice-boat !" 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  the  tiller  to  start  the  boat 
again,  but  he  laid  a  stronger  detaining  hand  on  hers. 

"You  shall  not  accuse  me  of  double-facedness,  Vera. 
I  am  not  trying  to  be  all  things  to  all  men,  and  you 
know  it.  I  do  want  to  be  all  things  to  you,  though,  and 
I  have  tried  to  be  sympathetic  with  everything  that 
interests  you,  dear !" 

She  did  not  respond  to  the  eager  voice  and  out 
stretched  hand,  but  sat  meditatively,  with  the  rudder 
in  her  grasp,  ready  for  instant  flight. 

When  a  man  is  not  devoured  by  passion,  it  is  not 
easy  to  invent  passionate  words  with  any  great  ra 
pidity.  He  thought  hard  for  a  moment.  She  seemed  to 
be  waiting  for  him. 

"Vera,  I  told  you  long  ago  that  I  loved  you,  and  you 
bade  me  wait  for  your  answer.  Haven't  I  waited  pa- 


ICE-BOATING  315 

tiently?  You  don't  know  how  patiently,  for  you  don't 
know  how  much  harder  it  grows  every  day  to  keep  my 
love  under  control.  Aren't  you  ready  yet,  sweetheart  ?" 

"Did  you  think  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time  when  I 
should  be?"  she  answered,  and  she  went  on  almost 
dreamily.  "Once  it  did  actually  seem  possible,  but  not 
now.  When  you  call  me,  'Vera,'  and  'sweetheart,'  then 
I  know.  Then  I  am  sure.  I  wish  you  would  never 
call  me  that  again." 

An  eddy  of  wind  caught  the  sail,  and  her  hand  tight 
ened  on  the  tiller.  The  next  instant  they  were  skim 
ming  swiftly  toward  the  club.  Anger  surged  in 
Kemyss'  breast  and  blinded  him  like  the  rush  of  the 
yacht.  He  would  have  liked  to  strike  her.  She  had 
cheated  him  of  the  future  that  he  believed  to  be  his. 
Windsor's  son-in-law  and  partner !  It  had  never  looked 
so  fair  a  vision  as  now,  when  it  began  to  take  on  the 
semblance  of  a  mirage. 

The  hot  smell  of  luncheon,  the  big  blazing  logs  in 
the  club-house  hall,  how  comfortable  they  were !  Were 
there  ever  such  appetites  as  those  created  by  ice-boat 
ing  and  youth?  Few  chefs  are  fortunate  enough  to 
have  their  reputations  so  seconded  by  hunger  as  is  that 
of  the  excellent  cook  who  presides  at  the  club. 

Miss  Preston,  recovered  from  her  wild  experiences, 
secure  in  becoming  array  now  that  her  enveloping 


3i6         THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

layers  were  off,  was  making  mild  running.  She  looked 
very  pretty  and  inviting.  Lenox  felt  as  though  he  was 
a  mechanical  toy,  wound  up  to  flirt,  and  bound  not  to 
disappoint  the  winder.  Other  people  came  trooping  in, 
all  cold  as  to  toes  and  fingers,  all  hungry. 

Then  came  Vera;  and  Lenox  forgot  that  he  was 
wound  up,  and  sprang  to  offer  her  a  chair  near  the  fire 
— surely  an  innocent  thing  for  a  young  man  to  do,  yet 
Miss  Preston's  pretty  lips  pouted  and  became  sullen, 
and  the  anger  in  Kemyss  grew  more  scalding. 

"I  thought  better  of  Mr.  Lenox,  but  I  see  he  is  like 
the  rest  of  you,  a  worshiper  of  the  golden  calf."  The 
girl  spoke  in  a  sneering  half-whisper  to  Kemyss,  tak 
ing  a  real  satisfaction  in  seeing  his  black  face  grow  a 
shade  darker;  and  Vera,  hearing,  turned  heavy-eyed 
and  tired.  The  exhilaration  of  the  sweet  morning  out 
of  doors  was  gone.  Was  that  what  it  always  meant? 
She  so  tried  to  forget  that  she  was  different  from  other 
girls,  and  that  men  hovered  around  her  for  the  sake  of 
her  money.  The  unconscious  Lenox,  on  the  other  side 
of  her  chair,  waited  in  vain  for  her  to  look  up  in  re 
sponse  to  his  efforts. 

After  luncheon  Vera  missed  her  father.  She  slipped 
away  from  the  group  again  gathered  around  the  open 
fire,  chattering,  preliminary  to  their  afternoon's  storm 
ing  of  the  domain  of  the  ice-king.  A  long  piazza  gir- 


ICE-BOATING  317 

died  the  club-house,  and  she  walked  slowly  down  its 
length,  looking  outward  until  she  saw  him,  standing 
with  his  back  toward  her  on  a  little  knoll,  and  gazing 
toward  the  north. 

The  world  of  youth  in  by  the  fire  seemed  out  of  har 
mony  with  her.  She  longed  for  some  one  to  trust  and 
comfort  her. 

Her  father  did  not  turn  as  she  approached,  and  when 
she  reached  him  there  was  a  look  in  his  face  she  had 
never  seen  there  before,  and  something  approaching 
tears  in  the  good-humored  unimaginative  eyes. 

Every  man,  who  is  more  than  half  a  man,  is  a  warm 
creature  at  heart,  but  he  grows  so  used  to  hiding  him 
self  behind  a  mask  of  stiff  commonplace  from  the  in 
quisitive  world  that  the  mask  comes  to  seem  like  his 
natural  face.  But  the  more  consistently  concealed  is  his 
"dear  secret  greenness,"  the  more  he  delights  in  get 
ting  a  glimpse  of  it  in  his  hours  of  solitude.  Windsor 
was  inspecting  his  now,  but  his  daughter's  eyes  ques 
tioned  him. 

"I  felt  upset  and  restless.  I  don't  exactly  know  why. 
A  good  many  little  things  trouble  me.  I  must  be  get 
ting  old.  It  never  used  to  disturb  me,  if  things  were  out 
of  joint.  I  thought  it  was  all  the  more  fun  to  set  them 
right." 

He  gave  a  long  sigh,  and  patted  the  fur-cased  hand. 


318        THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

"There's  really  nothing.  What  I  was  thinking  of 
now  was  a  pathetic  letter  I  got  this  morning  from  a 
wretch  of  a  woman  who  lost  everything  she  had  when 
that  fire-rumor  knocked  the  bottom  out  of  our  lumber 
company  stocks.  And  her  all  was  so  little,  Vera.  It 
kind  of  upset  me.  And  to  tell  you  the  truth,  you,  too, 
trouble  me." 

"I,  father?  What  have  I  done  that  can  possibly 
trouble  you,  you  dear  old  dad  ?" 

"You  have  grown  up.  You  aren't  my  little  girl  any 
longer.  When  I  see  all  those  puppies  dangling  around 
you  and  eager  to  snap  you  up,  I  want  to  murder  the 
whole  outfit." 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,  dad.  There'll  never  be  but 
one  you  to  me.  If  any  new  affection  comes,  it  shall 
never  wipe  out  the  old.  When  I  build  a  new  chamber 
to  my  heart,  it  shall  go  off  in  a  different  direction,  and 
not  encroach  on  your  room." 

Her  father  caught  her  in  a  great  bear's  hug,  and 
blurted  out : 

"Then  you  aren't  going  to  take  that  infernal 
Kemyss?  Perhaps  I'll  begin  to  like  him,  if  I  know 
there's  nothing  to  be  jealous  of." 

"But,  father,  when  the  right  man  comes,  you  mustn't 
be  jealous,"  she  said,  with  some  misgiving. 

"I  hate  him!"  said  her  father  vindictively,  and  she 


ICE-BOATING  319 

laughed  again  and  kissed  him.  They  stood  hand  in 
hand  in  silence. 

The  old  man  raised  his  finger  and  pointed. 

"Do  you  see  that  point  of  land?  Really  and  truly, 
that  is  what  I  came  out  here  to  see,  though  looking 
at  it  doesn't  make  it  any  more  credible.  That's  where 
I  first  saw  your  mother,  she  in  a  canoe,  and  I  on  land. 
The  tepee  she  lived  in  was  a  couple  of  hundred  yards 
farther  on.  She  must  have  known  every  inch  of  this 
ground.  Sometimes  it  seems  as  if  I'd  give  heaven  to 
get  her  back  and  return  to  the  good  old  time  when  we 
worked  together,  and  could  do  all  the  cookin'  we 
wanted  in  a  fryin'-pan.  People  were  to  be  trusted  in 
those  days,  and  you'd  as  soon  have  thought  of  cutting 
off  your  hand  as  locking  your  door." 

"Don't  you  think  we  are  to  be  trusted  now, 
father?" 

"You  are,  I  know.  I  am  glad  I've  got  you,  or  I 
might  have  lost  my  grip.  But  she  was  a  good  woman, 
and  you  needn't  be  sorry  that  you  are  like  her.  Her 
white  blood  was  always  stronger  in  her  than  her  red. 
All  that  did  for  her  was  to  make  her  more  faithful 
and  more  patient;  and  those  are  qualities  that  are 
good  in  any  woman,  be  she  red  or  white.  You  ain't 
got  any  call  to  be  ashamed  of  your  mother,  Vera. 
She  was  a  good  woman.  That's  about  the  highest 


320         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

praise.  I  wish  she  was  alive  to-day.  I'd  treat  her  like 
a  princess." 

Vera  had  never  heard  her  father  speak  half  a  dozen 
words  of  her  mother  before,  and  now  the  emotion 
seemed  to  be  too  much  for  him,  for  he  turned  and 
stumped  down  the  hill,  leaving*  her  standing  alone. 
The  crisp  brown  leaves,  clinging  to  the  oaks,  rustled 
to  each  other,  not  in  the  soft  tones  of  summer,  but 
with  bitter  defiance  of  the  power  of  the  frost,  and 
with  sharp  foreknowledge  that,  in  spite  of  their  per 
sistence,  their  death  would  come  in  spring,  when  the 
rest  of  the  world  was  preparing  for  new  birth. 

She  gazed  wistfully  toward  that  stretch  of  ice  of 
which  she  could  catch  a  glimpse  beyond  the  point. 
Like  her  father,  she  felt  a  longing  for  some  half- 
savage  condition  of  primitive  integrity.  With  all  her 
young  pleasure  in  the  attentions  that  came  to  her,  the 
thought  that  men  sought  her  for  her  money  had  never 
been  a  very  insistent  one,  for  most  of  the  eager  west 
ern  wooing  that  she  saw  about  her  was  of  the  genuine 
kind.  Where  there  is  no  leisure  class,  and  nothing  for 
the  non-worker  to  do  with  his  time,  the  difference 
between  wealth  and  mere  competence  is  not  so  great. 
In  this  new  land  the  rich  man  is  not  the  idler,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  the  hardest  worker. 

But  now,  suddenly,  Kemyss  looked  to  her  like  a 


ICE-BOATING  321 

monster,  and  he — Lenox — was  he,  too,  of  this  type? 
Mrs.  Lyell  had  called  him  a  materialist,  and  perhaps 
Miss  Preston  had  let  a  true  word  drop.  If  so,  it  was 
fime  to  forswear  the  world.  Were  all  men  like  this? 
Was  she  to  be  shut  off  from  the  heritage  of  simple 
love  that  is  a  woman's  first  right? 

She  shut  her  eyes  and  saw  his  clear-cut  face,  and 
when  she  looked  again  at  the  lake  it  was  through 
tears.  Surely  her  mother's  tepee  and  frying-pan  were 
better  than  her  own  abundance.  Then  she  fell  to  long 
ing  to  see  the  spot  where  that  mother  had  once  lived, 
and  to  feel  the  simple  emotions  her  mother  had  felt. 
Below  on  the  ice  the  groups  were  breaking  about  the 
yachts,  and  the  sound  of  light  voices  came  to  her. 
She  would  have  none  of  them.  Her  sport  should  be 
solitary. 

In  the  club-house  she  met  the  steward. 

"Have  you  a  pair  of  snow-shoes  that  I  could  wear  ?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Windsor,  snow-shoes  or  skees,  which 
ever  you  wish,  but  they're  no  use  on  the  ice,  you 
know." 

"I  know.  I  want  to  use  them  on  the  shore  a  bit. 
The  snow  is  deep  enough,  isn't  it  ?  I  believe  the  skees 
would  suit  me  best." 

He  brought  the  long  slender  runners  of  wood, 
slipped  her  feet  under  the  thongs  and  handed  her  the 


322         THE   PRIZE   TO   THE    HARDY 

pole  with  which  the  expert  guides  his  swinging  move 
ment  up  hill  and  down. 

She  thrilled  with  solitude  and  the  day.  Across  the 
unflecked  snow  and  through  the  scattered  woods,  here 
and  there,  lay  wandering  tracks;  the  two  broad,  two 
long,  where  a  rabbit  had  loped  softly  by,  the  scratchy 
footprints  of  young  master  squirrel,  and  here  the  marks 
of  a  slowly  trotting  fox,  with  the  occasional  swirl  of 
his  tail  left  in  the  snow.  She  loved  them  all.  In  the 
woods  there  is  sweet  sanity. 

The  wind  was  rising  and  tossing  the  lighter  surface 
drifts  in  long  blinding  eddies,  and  over  to  the  north 
west  a  sullen  bank  of  gray  threatened  the  blue. 

The  ice-boat  enthusiasts  became  less  numerous. 

"Believe  we'll  soon  have  more  snow,"  said  one. 
"I  have  an  idea  that  we  shall  be  glad  enough  to  get 
back  to  town  before  long.  It  looks  as  if  it  might  be  a 
wild  night." 

"Oh,  take  me  back !  Take  me  back !"  moaned  a  girl 
in  fright,  as  the  wind  drove  swifter  and  swifter,  speed 
ing  the  ice-boat  to  frenzy. 

"Well,  we're  two  miles  out  already,  but  I  can  get 
you  back  in  a  jiffy.  Hold  on  for  dear  life,"  shouted 
her  escort.  With  set  teeth  she  clung  to  the  ropes  for« 
the  mad  return.  One  after  another  drifted  back  to 
shelter  and  glowing  firelight,  until  few  adventurous 


ICE-BOATING  323' 

spirits  were  left  on  the  ice.  Lenox  peeped  once  in  at 
the  warm  hall,  saw  she  was  not  there,  and  preferred 
to  stay  outside  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  was  proba 
bly  far  afield  with  one  or  another  of  the  flying  specks. 

"I  believe  I'd  like  to  try  a  turn  by  myself,  if  you 
don't  mind  lending  the  Wabasso  to  me,  Mr.  Wind 
sor,"  he  said,  as  the  older  man  began  to  confess  him 
self  played  out.  Miss  Preston  had  long  since  aban 
doned  them  and  sought  more  promising  fields. 

"Go  ahead,  but  don't  steer  her  up  a  windmill.  Re 
member  you  have  to  make  up  your  mind  before  you 
think,  or  it's  too  late.  Here,  Kemyss  is  an  expert.  He 
can  give  you  a  pointer  or  two." 

Frank  would  have  smashed  the  Wabasso  and  him 
self  to  pieces  before  he  would  have  asked  help  from 
that  quarter.  The  two  boats  started  on  their  twin 
flight  in  apparently  amicable  relations,  while  Lenox 
was  still  thinking  with  no  cordiality  of  the  man  she 
had  sailed  with  all  the  morning,  though  she  snubbed 
himself.  Kemyss'  storm  of  indignation  was  beginning 
to  grow  cyclonic  in  shape,  with  its  twisted  tail  turned 
toward  this  intruder.  Nothing  had  gone  right  since 
Lenox  came  to  St.  Etienne.  It  outraged  the  private 
secretary's  sense  of  justice  that  the  structure  he  had 
reared  with  such  attention  to  details  should  be  threat 
ened  by  a  fellow  of  no  diplomacy.  There  are  certain 


324         THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

minds  so  constructed  as  to  be  unable  to  see  that  a 
straight  line  is  the  shortest  distance  between  two 
points. 

Back  and  forth,  here  and  there,  sped  the  sails.  Oc 
casionally  the  Polar  Star  came  close  enough  for  Ke- 
myss  to  shout  some  piece  of  advice  to  the  inex 
perienced  navigator,  until  up  in  a  lonely  bay,  Lenox 
began  a  series  of  short  tacks,  in  experiment  with  his 
new-found  toy. 

Vera  plodded  along  over  the  few  inches  of  light 
snow,  halting  now  to  look  at  a  fantastic  seed-vessel 
piercing  the  drift,  now  to  trace  strange  characters  on 
a  bit  of  birch-bark  torn  from  a  tree,  now  to  peer 
curiously  at  the  rounded  heap  of  a  muskrat  house  and 
to  wonder  what  kind  of  social  life  was  going  on  in 
side  its  spiky  shelter.  On  that  level  stretch  of  shore 
that  her  father  had  pointed  out  she  paced  back  and 
forth,  speculating  in  what  spot  her  mother  had  lived. 
The  very  long  reeds,  piercing  the  ice,  were  the  de 
scendants  of  the  plants  through  which  the  half-savage 
girl  had  pushed  her  canoe.  And  now  all  was  white  and 
cold  and  death-like,  where  once  had  been  that  vivid 
life.  What  a  strange  country  was  this,  that  in  three 
generations  had  brought  her  out  from  the  wilderness ! 
People  bewail  the  slowness  of  nature's  methods.  The 
very  rapidity  of  the  mighty  mother's  fate-loom  dizzied 


ICE-BOATING  325 

her,  and  she  shut  her  eyes  and  shivered  at  the  thought 
of  it  all. 

The  blue  day  was  gone  now,  and  a  great  grayness 
had  swallowed  up  the  world.  A  fine  soft  snow,  driveii 
in  long  slanting  lines  by  the  wind,  began  to  fall. 

"It  would  not  take  me  long  to  freeze  to  death  if  I 
sat  still.  This  wind  carries  the  cold  right  in  through 
everything.  I  must  be  getting  back  to  the  club-house," 
she  said  to  herself. 

And  still  she  sat  idly  for  a  moment  looking  down 
on  the  misty  beautiful  world  of  ice  below.  Her  eyes 
fastened  on  the  one  dark  spot  on  its  bosom,  a  great 
barrel  racing-buoy,  crowned  by  a  miniature  pine-tree. 
Near  it,  a  mile  away  from  her,  a  solitary  boat  was  beat 
ing  back  and  forth.  She  watched  its  meaningless 
manoeuvers  with  half-awakened  curiosity.  Then  an 
other  boat,  swift  and  direct,  came  flying  from  behind 
the  point,  making  straight  across  the  course  of  the 
first. 

She  started  to  her  feet.  '"I  wonder  if  they  see  each 
other!" 

The  original  sailor  swerved  suddenly  and  crashed 
against  the  buoy.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  could  hear 
the  blow  and  the  long  scream  of  the  rudders.  A  black 
speck  flew  from  the  boat  and  lay  still  upon  the  ice. 
The  second  sail  whirled  up  into  the  wind,  came  to  a 


326         THE    PRIZE   TO    THE    HARDY 

standstill,  and  an  ant-like  creature  leaped  from  it  and 
ran  toward  the  motionless  bit  of  blackness.  Vera 
leaned  forward  in  excitement.  Her  breath  came  fast, 
and  she  gasped. 

"No!  no!"  she  cried  aloud,  for  the  moving  figure 
seemed  to  touch  its  injured  companion,  hesitate  a  mo 
ment,  then  turn  and  hurry  back  to  its  own  craft,  climb 
aboard  and  seize  the  tiller.  The  next  instant  the  yacht 
sped  away  to  the  south  while  the  wind  hooted  and 
cheered  it  on  its  course. 

Vera  was  running  down  the  bank  now.  The  skees 
were  loosened  from  her  feet  and  slung  over  her  shoul 
der.  She  needed  no  thought  for  that ;  all  her  thoughts 
were  whirling  about  other  matters. 

"Why  did  he  go?  Did  he  go  for  help?  But  the 
man  will  freeze  to  death  long  before  he  gets  back! 
And  why  should  he  leave  him,  anyway  ?  It  would  have 
been  easy  enough  to  get  him  on  board  and  carry  him 
to  the  club  in  no  time."  The  pronouns  were  getting  all 
jumbled  up  in  her  unuttered  sentences,  but  her  thought 
was  clear  enough,  as  she  slipped  and  ran  and  stumbled 
over  the  glassy  surface,  catching  her  breath  when  an 
occasional  wild  gust  swept  the  snow  into  her  eyes. 
The  speck  grew  to  a  heap,  and  the  heap  began  to  take 
on  the  semblance  of  a  human  form.  He  was  lying 
on  his  back  as  though  he  had  been  deliberately  turned 


ICE-BOATING 


so,  and  already  a  light  film  of  snow  blurred  the  out 
lines.  She  fell  on  her  knees,  with  teeth  shut  and  never 
an  outcry,  and  brushed  the  tiny  drifts  away  from  the 
face  she  lifted.  She  pushed  back  his  glove  and  felt 
his  pulse  with  her  bared  fingers.  Seizing  a  handful  of 
snow  she  began  with  a  kind  of  desperation  to  chafe  the 
forehead,  and  then  she  laid  her  own  warm  cheek 
against  his  cold  one. 

"Ah,  if  I  could  only  send  some  of  my  glow  into 
him  !" 

Then  she  felt  a  convulsive  movement  and  drew 
away  half  startled  to  meet  his  eyes. 

"Vera!"  he  gasped,  and  shut  the  eyes  again  as 
if  dazed  by  the  light  that  leaped  into  his  face  as  he 
spoke. 

Some  glowing  spot  within  her  cried  out  words  of 
congratulation  to  her  heart.  "There  was  no  pretense 
about  that,"  it  said.  "He  loves  me  !" 

"You  —  how  did  you  come?"  He  had  now  gained 
self-possession  enough  to  think. 

"Never  mind  how  I  came.  The  question  is  how  are 
you  to  get  away.  You  were  just  a  little  stunned,  that's 
all.  But  you  would  have  frozen.  Do  you  think  you  can 
get  up  now  ?" 

He  tried  to  struggle  to  his  knees,  moaned  and  caught 
her  hand  as  if  to  save  himself  from  fainting. 


328         THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

"I — I  am  afraid  something  is  broken."  His  face  was 
white  and  drawn. 

"Stay  here  a  moment.  Don't  lose  consciousness 
again!"  She  ran  to  the  half-overturned  ice-boat  and 
stamped  her  foot  in  dismay.  One  runner  lay  hopeless 
ly  smashed.  What  should  she  do  ?  The  snow  and  wind 
grew  wilder  every  moment. 

"Have  you  a  knife  ?"  She  was  back  by  his  side. 

"Somewhere  in  a  pocket — if  I  can  only  get  it."  He 
began  to  turn  painfully,  but  her  hand  was  quicker  than 
his. 

"You  are  suffering  dreadfully." 

"Never  mind  that.  But  you — you  must  not  stay  here 
in  this  storm,  Vera," — but  she  had  already  run  away 
again.  From  the  yacht  she  cut  rope  after  rope,  and 
loosening  the  skees  from  her  back  she  bound  them 
side  by  side  with  the  long  steering  pole  she  had  car 
ried  to  guide  herself  across  them  in  front.  She  threw 
some  rugs  on  top  of  them,  and  hitched  a  rope  to  the 
bar.  Her  pulses  were  bounding  exultantly  now. 

"Look !"  she  cried,  drawing  up  near  him.  "Here  is  a 
sledge  fit  for  a  king.  If  I  can  help  you  to  roll  on,  we 
shall  be  back  in  no  time.  Isn't  it  fine  ?" 

"And  you  drag  me?  Is  thy  servant  a  dog?  It  must 
be  two  or  three  miles." 

"Supposing  it  is,  what  else  is  to  be  done?" 


ICE-BOATING  329 

"You  must  make  your  own  way  back  and  tell  some 
one  to  come  to  my  help." 

"The  some  one  who  helps  you  is  going  to  be  the 
some  one  who  is  here  now,"  she  answered  in  a  tone  of 
determination  which  would  not  be  thwarted.  "You 
would  be  frozen  long  before  aid  could  come.  There 
is  nothing  for  it  but  for  you  to  submit." 

"Nonsense,  I  can't.  You— I— I  love  the  very 
ground  you  walk  on.  Do  you  think  I  can  use  you  like 
a  beast  of  burden  ?" 

She  knelt  beside  him. 

"Do  you  love  me?"  she  said  tenderly.  For  an  in 
stant  they  forgot  broken  leg  and  sledge  and  whirling 
snow  as  their  eyes  met  in  a  long  embrace.  She  stooped 
and  kissed  him. 

"I  am  glad  you  love  me,"  she  said,  "because  then 
you  will  let  me  do  it.  There  is  nothing  love  will  not 
give  and  receive.  Come,  now,  a  few  moments  ago  I 
was  playing  squaw  over  there  on  the  bank.  Do  you 
know  how  you  braves  treat  us  poor  wretches? 
You  make  us  pull  your  great  lazy  heavy  weights  like 
the  poor  dogs  that  we  are,  and  we  submit  to  it  humbly 
because  we  love  you,  brutal  as  you  are.  Come,  roll  on. 
We  have  not  much  daylight  left  us.  Did  you  really 
think  I  would  go  off  and  leave  you?  On  the  march 
the  braves  often  go  on  and  leave  the  squaws  to  strug- 


330         THE    PRIZE   TO    THE   HARDY 

gle  along  as  best  they  can;  but  the  squaws  leave  the 
braves?  Never!" 

He  drew  her  face  down  again.  "Forgive  me  for  ac 
cepting  so  much,"  he  said. 

"I'll  forgive  you  if  you  mind  quickly,  not  other 
wise."  She  tugged  and  pulled  and  stopped  now  and 
then  for  an  instant  to  get  her  breath  and  laugh  and 
sob  with  happiness  and  terror ;  and  he  cursed  himself 
for  his  impotence  and  hugged  himself  for  joy  though 
the  pain  grew  worse  and  worse.  The  wind  from  be 
hind  did  all  in  its  power  to  help  the  course  of  true  love. 

In  one  of  the  halts,  she  came  back  to  the  sledge  and 
half  knelt  by  his  side. 

"Are  you  keeping  the  rugs  around  you,  and  are  you 
warm  enough  ?" 

"Warmer  than  I  have  ever  been  before  in  my  life.  I 
begin  to  believe  in  slavery  as  an  institution." 

"Why  did  he  do  it?" 

"Who  ?"  he  said,  not  meeting  her  eye. 

"Oh,  you  know  perfectly  well.  It  was  done  deliber 
ately.  Why  should  you  try  to  shield  him  ?" 

"It  was  my  own  lack  of  skill  that  brought  me  to 
grief." 

"That  may  be,  but  he  left  you  to  freeze,  if  he  did  not 
think  you  already  dead.  There  was  murder  in  his 
heart,  if  not  on  his  hands." 


ICE-BOATING  331 

"What  did  you  see?"  He  looked  at  her  frankly  now. 

"I  saw  him  go  and  leave  you." 

"He  has  always  hated  me  for  some  reason  of  his 
own." 

"Because  I  always  loved  you,"  said  she,  with  as 
much  conviction  as  though  this  were  true.  No  doubt  at 
this  stage  of  affairs  she  thought  it  was. 

"Vera,  if  what  you  say  is  true,  leave  me  to  deal  with 
him,  when — when  I  am  strong  enough.  This  is  my 
battle,  not  yours,  sweetheart." 

She  looked  down  at  him  quizzically. 

"So  you  are  issuing  commands  to  your  squaw  al 
ready,  are  you?  Very  well,  my  lord  and  master,  you 
shall  be  obeyed,  but  permit  me  to  give  him  one  look, — 
only  one  look,  if  ever  we  get  there." 

Then  suddenly  she  realized  that  his  face  was  grow 
ing  whiter,  and  his  strength,  kept  up  by  excitement, 
was  ebbing,  and  she  went  back  to  her  dray-horse  work 
with  desperation.  As  she  turned  the  last  corner  before 
the  club-house  came  in  view,  and  saw  her  father,  now 
anxious  from  her  long  absence,  come  running  toward 
her  through  the  storm,  she  fairly  sobbed  from  very 
weariness. 

"Good  heavens,  Vera!"  he  shouted  as  he  ran. 
"What  are  you  doing?" 

She  laughed  breathlessly.    "I  am  not  sure  whether 


332         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

I  am  hauling  a  captor  or  dragging  a  captive.  It 
doesn't  make  much  difference.  But,  oh,  he  is  hurt; 
and  you'll  see  that  he  is  well  taken  care  of,  dad,  for  my 
sake!" 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE   SUBJUGATION    OF   A   PARENT 

That  was  an  exciting  night,  a  night  when  even 
Nicholas  Windsor,  who  had  known  the  vicissitudes  of 
bears  and  bulls,  and  hung  a  dozen  times  on  the  verge 
where  a  tumble  meant  failure,  found  himself  unable  to 
sleep.  After  he  had  seen  the  now  utterly  collapsed 
Lenox  safely  back  to  town  and  comfortably  ensconced 
in  his  own  room  with  a  trained  nurse  and  an  optimistic 
surgeon,  Windsor  returned  to  his  own  home,  thinking 
that  his  agitations  were  over.  The  first  glance  at  his 
daughter's  face,  as  she  sat  tensely  awaiting  him,  upset 
him  more  than  all  that  had  gone  before.  For,  after  all, 
one  can  endure  with  considerable  equanimity  the  bro 
ken  leg  of  a  distant  cousin,  even  if  that  cousin  be  a  fine 
likable  boy. 

"You  ought  to  be  in  bed,  Vera,"  exclaimed  the  old 
man  testily.  "You  are  utterly  exhausted  by  hauling 
that  worthless  fellow  so  far,  and  if  I  had  dreamed 
that  you  would  be  so  foolish  as  to  sit  up  and  wait  for 

333 


334         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

me,  I  would  have  brought  you  home,  and  seen  you 
tucked  up  before  I  lifted  my  hand  for  him." 

"Then  I  am  glad  you  did  not  dream.  There  are 
so  many  things  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about,  I  simply 
couldn't  go  to  bed.  Don't  be  savage.  And  first  tell  me, 
how  is  Frank?" 

Her  father's  jaw  dropped.  "Frank!"  he  exclaimed.. 
"Well,  I  do  think !  'Frank' !  And  since  when  has  he 
been 'Frank' to  you?  'Frank'!" 

Vera  stamped  her  foot.  "Tell  me  how  Frank  is!" 
she  said. 

"Oh,  of  course,  'Frank' !  Well,  he's  as  well  as  you 
could  expect.  Why  shouldn't  he  be?  Why,  when  I 
was  his  age,  and  as  strong  as  a  young  buck,  I  shouldn't 
have  thought  anything  of  a  broken  leg.  But  he  used 
you  like  a  pack-mule.  He  isn't  half  so  much  done  up 
as  you  are,  the  ungrateful  villain!  I  will  say,  I  never 
saw  a  man  take  things  with  more  grit.  I  wonder  how 
much  he  smashed  the  Wabasso,  confound  him !  Now, 
are  you  ready  to  go  to  bed  ?" 

"Not  yet,"  she  said  quietly.  "I  am  going  to  have  my 
say  first." 

As  she  told  him  the  story  of  the  pretty  drama  she 
had  watched  from  the  hilltop,  her  father's  face  grew 
more  and  more  glum,  but  he  waited  silently  until  it 
was  all  told,  and  all  he  said  was :  "I  liked  him  once, 


THE    SUBJUGATION    OF   A    PARENT    335 

and  now  it  looks  as  if  he  was  a  rascal.  This  is  my 
funeral,  little  girl.  You  do  not  need  to  worry  your 
head  about  his  punishment.  Now,  are  you  ready  to  go 
to  bed  ?  Because  I  am." 

"Not  yet,  father,  there  is  more  still." 

But  this  time  she  could  not  sit  quietly  in  her  chair 
to  rehearse  her  little  tale.  She  must  needs  squeeze 
down  beside  her  father  in  his  hospitable  chair,  and 
steal  a  cajoling  arm  around  his  neck  and  hide  her  face 
against  his  breast.  And  this  time  her  father  did  not 
listen  in  silence,  but  with  constant  explosions  of  what 
ever  expletives  came  nearest  to  hand. 

"It's  perfect  nonsense !"  he  blurted  out  at  last.  "You 
don't  know  the  creature  at  all — never  saw  him  till  a 
few  weeks  ago!" 

"We  knew  each  other  better  after  two  days  at  Pine 
Vale  than  if  we  had  met  at  a  thousand  dances  and  din 
ners.  And  haven't  I  heard  you  say  time  and  again 
that,  however  well  people  thought  they  knew  each 
other  before  marriage,  they  had  to  get  acquainted  all 
over  again  afterward  ?" 

"Yes,  and  I  believe  I  once  recommended  you  to 
marry  a  drummer,  but  I  didn't  mean  a  drummer  like 
this  fellow,  with  no  experience  and  no  prospects." 

"Oh,  you're  quite  mistaken  on  that  score,  dear.  His 
prospects  are  of  the  finest.  He's  not  going  to  stay  on 


336         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

the  road,  you  know.  You  are  going  to  find  something 
a  great  deal  better  than  that  for  your  son-in-law.  And 
if  you  don't,  why  you  yourself  told  me  that  the  only 
really  desirable  life  to  be  lived  was  with  a  tepee  and  a 
frying-pan.  I  feel  a  little  inclined  to  try  it, — with 
Frank." 

"Much  you  do !"  said  her  father,  with  a  groan. 

"Come,  you've  been  giving  me  my  own  way  too  long 
to  hope  to  do  anything  else  now.  You  may  just  as  well 
give  in  gracefully  and  promptly.  You  won't  have  to 
feel  sullen  so  long.  And  you  know  well  how  very  un 
happy  you  will  be  if  you  quarrel  with  me.  It  won't  be 
pleasant,  will  it,  dear?" 

Her  arm  was  very  tight  around  his  neck,  and  he 
groaned  again. 

"And  if  you  don't  consent  to  this,  I  shall  insist  on 
marrying  an  Italian  count,  with  a  palace  of  three  hun 
dred  rooms,  and  an  income  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  dol 
lars!"  she  said  threateningly. 

"See  here!"  her  father  exclaimed  fiercely.  "You 
have  got  to  keep  on  living  right  here  in  this  house 
with  me." 

"Very  well,  dear,"  she  laughed  triumphantly.  "That 
question  is  settled.  I  think  I  can  venture  to  pledge 
Frank  to  it.  You  shall  be  allowed  to  live  in  this  house 
with  us.  And  now,  remember  you  are  to  go  to  see 


THE    SUBJUGATION    OF   A    PARENT     337 

him  to-morrow,  and  tell  him  that  the  fondest  dream 
of  your  life  is  realized.  You  will,  won't  you,  dear  ?" 

"I'm  an  adept  at  lying !"  said  her  father  glumly. 

'Then  make  it  the  truth." 

"Oh,  I'll  try  to  be  decent  to  him,  for  I  know  I'll  get 
into  hot  water  at  home  if  I'm  not.  I  really  pity  that 
young  man  if  he's  going  to  come  under  your  thumb." 

"Nonsense!  You  are  lucky  to  get  such  a  son.  And 
you  know  you  like  him  yourself." 

"I  may  have  a  slight  taste  for  him,  but  I'm  not  really 
hungry.  Besides,  I  don't  see  that  it  makes  any  differ 
ence  whether  I  like  him  or  not.  My  course  is  all  laid 
down  for  me.  Vera,  are  you  the  girl  who  was  consult 
ing  her  old  dad  not  long  ago  on  the  subject  of  matri 
mony  ?" 

"Oh,  that  was  different." 

"Yes,"  said  her  father  whimsically,  "it  was."  But 
he  patted  her  cheek  and  kissed  her,  and  said : 

"God  bless  you,  little  girl."  And  then  he  kissed  her 
again.  "Now,"  he  said,  "can  we  give  Frank  and  our 
selves  a  rest,  and  go  to  bed  ?" 

The  carriage  stood  outside  the  door  as  Mr.  Wind 
sor  came  down  the  steps  the  next  morning,  and  a  man 
who  had  been  scuffing  up  and  down,  eyed  suspiciously 
by  the  coachman,  came  quickly  forward. 

"Mr.  Windsor?"  he  said  with  an  air  of  bravery. 


338         THE   PRIZE   TO   THE   HARDY 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  with  lowering  brows. 

"If  I'm  not  mistaken,  your  name  is  Repburn." 

"Yes,  sir ;  I  want  very  much  to  speak  to  you  a  mo 
ment." 

"From  all  I  can  recollect,  sir,  it  cost  me  a  cool  hun 
dred  thousand  to  speak  to  you  before.  I  am  feeling 
poor  this  morning.  I  can't  afford  it." 

"Mr.  Windsor,"  said  the  other  desperately,  seeing 
his  chance  slipping  from  him,  "I  must  see  you.  I 
know  all  about  the  fire  rumor." 

Windsor  turned  with  his  hand  on  the  carriage  door 
knob. 

"You  scurvy  knave,  were  you  in  that,  too  ?" 

"That  is  not  the  way  to  address  a  man  who  has 
come  to  do  you  a  favor.  I  have  nothing  with  which  to 
reproach  my  conscience,  sir." 

"I'd  swear  that  you  haven't  brains  to  invent  any  dev 
iltry.  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  here,  sir." 

"Well,  come  back  to  the  house,  then." 

Vera  came  forward,  a  little  surprised  by  her  father's 
return,  and  Repburn  made  her  an  elaborate  bow.  He 
was  the  central  figure  in  a  dramatic  situation,  and  he 
meant  to  live  up  to  it. 

"Miss  Windsor,  I  trust,  by  the  revelation  which  I 
am  about  to  communicate  to  your  father,  in  some  slight 


THE    SUBJUGATION    OF   A    PARENT    339 

degree  to  make  amends  for  the  kindness  which  you  be 
stowed  on  me — an  obligation  which  I  do  not  owe  in 
equal  amount  to  him ;  nevertheless — " 

But  Mr.  Windsor  seemed  to  have  no  delicate  appre 
ciation  of  the  occasion,  for  he  beckoned  the  young  man 
abruptly  into  a  back  room. 

"Now  then,"  he  said  with  decision,  "out  with  your 
yarn." 

But  Mr.  Repburn  was  not  to  be  hastened.  He  sat 
down  with  deliberation  and  began  once  more  his  tale, 
dropping  his  lofty  demeanor  and  becoming  more  and 
more  colloquial  as  his  woes  appealed  in  their  total  sum 
to  his  imagination.  Windsor  listened  patiently.  The 
bushy  eyebrows  moved  up  and  down,  and  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  twitched,  and  he  forgot  the  letters 
marked  "Personal,"  which  were  sure  to  be  accumu 
lating  on  his  desk. 

"Well,  we've  got  you  so  far.  Your  uncle  left  you 
two  thousand  dollars  by  his  earlier  will."  On  this 
point  Mr.  Repburn  had  judged  it  wise  to  depart  from 
the  strict  path  of  truth.  "All  this  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  lie  about  my  lumber  company.  Are  we  get 
ting  near  the  denouement  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  as  I  told  you,  I  put  this  entire  sum,  all  I 
had,  sir,  into  a  little  business  that  I  thought  would  set 
me  up.  And  now — darn  it ! — I  wisht  I  was  a  swearing 


340         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE    HARDY 

man — that's  gone,  and  I  haven't  a  penny  between  me 
and  starvation." 

Mr.  Windsor  instinctively  put,  his.  hand  in  his 
pocket,  but  he  drew  it  out  again  empty,  and  his  anger 
flared  up. 

"See  here !"  he  said.  "You  brought  me  back  to  the 
house  to  tell  me  something  of  importance,  and  you've 
taken  fifteen  minutes  of  my  time  to  impart  what  I  knew 
before,  that  you're  not  safe  running  the  streets  alone. 
Now  will  you  give  me  your  information  in  short  order, 
or  will  you  leave  ?" 

"At  once,  sir.  You  see,  I  paid  this  two  thousand 
dollars  to  enter  into  partnership  with  this  Timothy 
Norton.  He  seemed  a  very  smart  man,  but,  sir,  that 
fellow  is  a  scamp.  I  hadn't  been  with  him  but  a  day 
or  two  before  I  began  to  have  my  suspicions.  He  kep' 
me  busy  all  the  time,  but  somehow  I  didn't  seem  to  be 
doin'  nothing;  and  he  got  me  all  muddled  up  about 
what  the  business  was  anyhow.  I  commenced  to  pre 
tend  that  I  was  not  payin'  any  attention,  but  I  tell  you, 
I  kept  tab  on  everythin'  that  took  place  and  everybody 
that  came  in.  I  read  every  scrap  of  paper,  and  I  lis 
tened  to  everythin'  I  could  hear.  I  made  pretty  sure 
that  all  he  wanted  was  my  money,  and  that  those  big 
docyments  he  made  me  sign  all  about  the  partnership 
and  everythin'  was  so  much  waste  paper.  Don't  be 


THE    SUBJUGATION    OF   A    PARENT    341 

impatient,  sir,  I'm  comin'  to  it.  Well,  I  found  out  that 
he  had  a  lot  of  your  lumber  company  stock.  Of 
course,  I  didn't  think  much  of  that,  but  I  was  findin' 
out  everythin'  I  could,  you  understand.  Day  'fore  yes 
terday,  Norton  was  out,  and  there  come  a  ring  at  the 
telephone,  and  a  feller  says,  'Is  that  you,  Tim?'  'Yes/ 
I  says,  tryin'  to  imitate  his  voice.  'Well,  this  is 
Kemyss',-— " 

"What?"  shouted  Windsor,  taking  a  step  toward 
the  cowering  youth. 

"Don't  strike  me,  sir,  I've  got  the  proof.  I've  got  a 
telegram  from  Pine  Vale.  I've  got  private  notes  I 
found  in  Norton's  desk." 

He  stopped,  for  Mr.  Windsor  sat  down  heavily,  and 
motioned  to  him  to  be  silent.  Then  the  old  man  rose 
again  abruptly  and  shut  the  door  on  the  rest  of  their 
interview. 

When  they  came  out,  Mr.  Repburn  was  effusive. 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Windsor,  you  understand  this 
hasn't  been  pleasant  work  for  me,  but  I  owed  Mr. 
Kemyss  one,  for  I  felt  sure  that  he  must  have  misrep 
resented  me  to  you,  or  a  man  of  your  character  would 
never  have  treated  me  as  you  did.  So  it  was  my  duty 
to  right  myself." 

"I  think  I  understand  you,  and  I'll  see  that  you  are 
paid  for  your  dirty  work,"  said  Mr.  Windsor  glumly. 


342         THE    PRIZE   TO   THE    HARDY 

Late  as  he  was  at  the  office,  Mr.  Windsor  stood  tap 
ping  his  desk  with  absent-mindedness  while  his  pri 
vate  secretary  communicated  a  matter  of  importance. 
The  private  secretary  himself  was  ill  at  ease.  He  had 
taken  the  first  train  in  from  the  lake  after  returning 
to  the  club-house  the  night  before,  and  he  had  seen 
neither  of  the  Windsors.  But  rumor  had  already  in 
formed  him  of  Lenox's  rescue,  and  he  did  not  know 
how  much  more  was  known.  He  cursed  himself  a  hun 
dred  times  for  yielding  to  the  sudden  impulse  of  ras 
cality.  He  had  meant  the  man  no  evil  until  he  saw  him 
lying  there  on  the  ice.  Then  hate  seemed  to  enwrap 
him.  An  instant  and  the  thing  was  done.  Now  how 
much  of  this  was  known?  Already  the  idea  of  flight 
had  suggested  itself,  but  flight  would  make  it  look 
worse  than  it  really  was,  for  his  wrong  was  only  one 
of  neglect.  And  perhaps  Lenox  himself  did  not  real 
ize  the  circumstances.  There  was  the  chance.  Still  he 
was  distrait,  while  his  chief  listened  absently. 

Windsor  broke  in,  and  the  attack  came  from  an  un 
expected  quarter. 

"Kemyss,  when  my  private  secretary  uses  his  in 
formation  and  his  position  to  trick  the  investors  who 
have  trusted  to  my  name,  it  puts  me  in  an  uncomfort 
able  position,  and  him  in  a  bad  light." 

Kemyss7  lips  grew  white,  and  his  body  rigid. 


THE    SUBJUGATION    OF   A    PARENT    343 

"I  really  don't  understand  you  at  all,  sir." 

"Oh,  you  understand,  fast  enough." 

"Mr.  Windsor," — Kemyss  straightened  himself — 
"you  have  no  right  to  make  an  unfounded  accusation 
against  me." 

"I'm  not  going  to  beat  about  the  bush,  Kemyss,  and 
I'm  not  making  accusations  for  fun.  Do  you  think  I 
enjoy  it?"  The  old  man's  mouth  snarled  like  a  wild 
beast's. 

'The  cleverest  scoundrel  that  ever  lived  may  be 
tripped  up  by  a  fool,  Kemyss,  and  that's  what  you 
were.  It's  no  use  in  bluffing.  I  know  the  whole  story. 
I  understand  it  a  great  deal  better  than  the  poor  buf 
foon  who  told  it  to  me.  There  is  the  telegram  you  sent. 
I  don't  often  dirty  my  ringers  as  I  did  in  taking  this 
from  a  sneak ;  but  this  time  it  had  to  be  done." 

Kemyss  moistened  his  lips  and  tried  to  speak. 

"Well?"  said  Windsor. 

The  young  man  looked  square  in  his  eyes. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  he  asked  in 
solently. 

"If  you  ask  me  what  legal  measures  I  am  going  to 
take,  I  tell  you  frankly,  none."  Windsor's  face  grew 
quite  pitiful,  for  the  simplicity  of  old  trapper  days  still 
clung  to  the  corners  of  his  heart.  "It's  a  tough  experi 
ence  to  watch  confidence  and  friendship  decay  and  rot 


344         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

and  smell  bad.  I  have  not  the  heart  to  kick  them,  even 
when  they  are  dead.  If  you  mean  to  ask  me  what  I  am 
going  to  do  about  the  men  you  have  pushed  to  the 
wall,  I'll  tell  you  I  am  going,  in  some  way,  to  make 
good  the  wrong  done  by  my  private  secretary.  I  can  do 
it  by  indirect  ways,  and  I  do  not  intend  to  publish  your 
infamy  to  the  world.  I've  let  you  off  pretty  easy ;  but 
when  I  remember  that  your  father  helped  me  to  bury 
my  wife,  I'm  not  sorry  I've  showed  leniency  to  his  son. 
Now,  leave  St.  Etienne.  It  may  console  you  for  some 
of  the  evil  you  have  done  to  know  that  your  machina 
tions  have  hastened  the  happiness  of  two  young  peo- 
pie-" 

Kemyss  turned  without  a  word  and  walked  out  of 
the  room.  He  swore  at  himself  for  a  fool,  but  not  for 
a  knave. 

The  old  man  put  his  head  down  on  the  desk  for  a 
moment. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  said,  as  he  raised  it.  "I'm  glad 
I've  got  something  more  cheerful  to  think  about.  Com 
pared  with  that,  losing  your  daughter  is  sport.  The 
minx!  Getting  up  a  full-blown  romance  without  con 
sulting  her  dad!  Frank's  a  lucky  fellow,  and  I  may 
be  able  to  make  something  of  him  if  I  am  bear 
enough  at  the  office  to  overcome  the  coddling  she'll 
give  him  at  home.  And  now,  like  the  well-trained  par- 


THE    SUBJUGATION    OF    A    PARENT     345 

ent  that  I  am,  I'll  go  and  tell  that  unmitigated  rascal 
that  he  is  the  apple  of  my  eye." 

An  hotel  room  is  not  an  ideal  place  in  which  to  be 
ill,  but  Lenox  showed  a  countenance  of  cheerful  sub- 
missiveness  to  his  elderly  relative.  Windsor  noted  that 
a  bowl  of  violets  stood  on  a  table  at  the  bed-head  and 
that  a  note  lay  beside  them. 

"The  minx !"  he  said  to  himself.  It  seemed  to  be  the 
only  expression  that  covered  the  ground. 

"No,  nurse,  I'm  not  going  to  say  anything  exciting. 
I  don't  want  to  drive  him  into  a  fever  any  more  than 
you  do.  Why,  I  couldn't  excite  a  baby.  Pshaw! 
Lenox,  there  ain't  a  thing  the  matter  with  you.  The 
nurse  is  making  it  up  to  keep  her  job.  The  doctor 
hasn't  given  you  up,  he  tells  me.  Got  to  keep  pretty 
flat,  though,  and  take  what's  given  to  you  for  the  next 
few  weeks.  It's  a  pity.  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  give 
up  your  job  on  the  road." 

Frank  nodded  weakly  and  closed  his  eyes.  He  found 
it  impossible  just  now  to  concentrate  his  attention  on 
Mexico  and  Trondheim.  The  old  man  got  up  and 
wandered  around  the  room  surveying  absorbedly  the 
few  pictures  on  the  walls.  Then  he  came  back  to  the 
bedside. 

"Well,  I  came  here  to  talk  business,  pure  business, 
if  you  feel  up  to  it.  I  am  glad  that  nurse  has  cleared 


346         THE    PRIZE    TO    THE    HARDY 

out.  She  might  think  it  was  too  exciting,  or  some 
thing  of  that  kind. 

"Kemyss  is  going  away,  and  as  soon  as  you  are 
about  again,  I  want  you  to  get  into  training  for  his 
place.  I  shall  want  some  one  to  take  more  and  more  of 
the  burden  from  me  as  I  grow  older,  and  I'm  not  sorry 
to  think  that  some  one  may  be  a  man  of  the  same  blood 
as  myself." 

Frank  felt  distinctly  bored,  and  showed  it  by  nod- 
cling  with  his  eyes  still  shut.  The  old  man  stood  look 
ing  down  at  him  quizzically.  T,hen  his  tone  grew  dis 
tinctly  belligerent. 

"As  a  preliminary,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  at  once 
that  there  is  one  rather  unusual  duty  that  I  always  re 
quire  of  a  private  secretary,  and  I  couldn't  even  offer 
you  the  position  unless  you  feel  that  you  can  perform 
it.  I  require  my  secretary  to  make  love  to  my  daugh 
ter.  It  saves  her  from  feeling  neglected,  you  know." 

He  buried  his  nose  in  the  violets  as  Frank  opened 
his  startled  eyes.  A  big  bear  paw  was  extended,  and 
the  young  man  found  strength  to  grasp  it  warmly. 
The  two  men  grinned  at  each  other.  ( 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Vera  came  down  to  see  you 
to-day.  I  wish  the  nurse  would  shut  her  out  as  'too  ex 
citing/  "  said  her  father.  "She  hasn't  a  touch  of  maiden 
modesty  or  of  filial  obedience ;  but  I'm  fond  of  the  girl, 


THE    SUBJUGATION    OF    A    PARENT     347 

and  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  blame  you,  if  you  feel  the 
same  way.  If  she  wants  you  or  any  other  little  thing: 
that  pleases  her,  I'm  not  going  to  stand  in  her  way." 


THE   END 


A  LIST  of  IMPORTANT  FICTION 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


A    NOVEL    OF   AMERICAN    CHIVALRY 

THE   LAW 
OF  THE  LAND 

BY  EMERSON    HOUGH 
Author  of  "The  Mississippi  Bubble" 


"Totally  unlike  any  preceding  literary  pro 
duction  in  plot,  style,  and  treatment,  «  The  Law 
of  the  Land  '  stands  preeminently  superior  to  any 
literary  creation  of  the  day." 

New  York  American 

"  '  The  Law  of  the  Land  '  will  be  one  of  the 
most  successful  novels  of  the  year,  for  a  stronger  or 
more  ruggedly  told  tale  has  not  come  from  the  press 
this  fall."  Newark  Advertiser 

"  This  stirring  novel  is  at  once  a  love  story  and 
a  study  of  the  race  problem  in  the  South,  and  Mr. 
Hough  has  succeeded  as  admirably  in  one  as  in  the 
other."  Baltimore  Herald 

With  six  drawings  by 

Arthur  I.    Keller 
Cloth,  izmo,  $1.50 

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"WORTHY  AN   AMERICAN    BALZAC" 

ZELDA 
DAMERON 

BY  MEREDITH    NICHOLSON 
Author  of  "The  Main  Chance." 

"  When  you  see  a  novel  by  Meredith  Nicholson, 
get  it  and  read  it ;  you  will  be  repaid  a  hundred 
fold  on  your  investment."  New  York  American 

"  In  his  novel  '  Zelda  Dameron  '  Mr.  Nicholson 
keeps  up  the  good  work  begun  in  *  The  Main 
Chance,'  turning  out  a  rattling  tale  of  social  and 
commercial  tractions.  The  reader  regrets  the 
advent  of  the  last  page."  Washington  Star 

(t  Mr.  Nicholson's  colloquy  is  bright,  natural 
and  of  the  strictly  modern  type,  his  characters  well 
drawn  and  auspiciously  introduced.  His  arrange 
ment  of  plot  and  incident  are  admirably  designed 
to  excite  and  sustain  the  reader's  interest  and 
sympathy."  Philadelphia  North  American 

With  pictures  in  color  by  John   Cecil  Clay 
Cloth,  i  2mo,  $1.50 

The  Bobbs-Merrill   Company,  Indianapolis 


MR.  MAcGRATH'S  NEW  GAY  ROMANCE 

THE  MAN 
ON  THE   BOX 

BY  HAROLD  MAcGRATH 
Author  of  "The  Puppet  Crown"   and   "The  Grey  Cloak.'* 

"  Had  Harold  MacGrath's  story  of  a  Washing 
ton  escapade,  'The  Man  on  the  Box,'  been  written 
for  the  stage  it  would  have  been  voted  a  clean, 
spirited  and  clever  society  comedy,  and  in  book 
form  it  deserves  no  less  complimentary  rating." 

Life 

"'The  Man  on  the  Box  '  is  the  blithest  little 
story  that  has  come  to  us  in  many  a  day.  It 
begins  well  and  ends  better  ;  a  story  to  warm  the 
cockles  of  one's  heart."  New  York  Press 

"  The  situations  in  '  The   Man  on  the  Box  '  are 

clever  and  natural,  and  above  all  it  is  a  love  story 

of  the  kind  we  are  all  glad  to  read.      The  most 

enjoyable  of  all  the  books  from   Mr.    MacGrath's 

pen."  Chicago  Inter-Ocean 

With  seven  drawings  by  Harrison  Fisher 

Cloth,  izmo,  $1.50 

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A  splendid  new    novel    by  the    author  of  "  The 
Strollers  "  and  "  Under  the  Rose." 


BLACK  FRIDAY 


BY    FREDERIC    S.    ISHAM 


"  The  love  story  is  handled  with  infinite  skill. 
The  characters  are  strongly  drawn  ;  the  romance 
is  stimulating  and  the  pictures  of  *  the  street  ' 
drawn  with  rare  power."  Boston  Herald 

"  There  is  much  energy  and  much  spirit  in 
Frederic  S.  Isham's  story  of  '  Black  Friday.' 
Distinctly  an  opulent  and  animated  tale." 

New  York  Sun 

'<  (  Black  Friday  '  is  a  novel  that  fascinates  by  its 
compelling  force  and  grips  by  its  human  intensity. 
No  better  novel  has  been  published  in  a  decade." 

Newark  Advertiser 

"  <  Black  Friday  '  is  a  genuine  American  novel, 
and  one  that  arrests  interest  at  the  beginning  and 
holds  it  to  the  end."  Nashville  American 

Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher 
Cloth,  I2mo,  $1.50 

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FULL    OF   DAINTY    CHARM 

THE  GIRL  AND 
THE  KAISER 

BY  PAULINE  -BRADFORD  MACKIE 


"  An  amusing  love  story,  which  is  certain  to  win 
instant  favor.  Fresh,  enthusiastic,  and  daintily 
lyrical."  Philadelphia  Item 

*' A   charming    little    book,   artistically  made,  is 
'  The  Girl  and  the  Kaiser' ;  one  that  can  be  recom 
mended  for  pleasing  entertainment  without  reserve. " 
5/.  Louis  Globe-Democrat 

Here  is  a  beautiful  and  delightfully  seasonable 
volume  that  everybody  will  want.  The  story  is  a 
bubbling  romance  of  the  German  imperial  court 
with  an  American  girl  heroine. 

Decorated  and  illustrated  in  color  by 

John  Cecil  Clay 
izmo,  cloth,  $1.50 

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A  GOOD  OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE  STORY 

THE 
HAPPY  AVERAGE 

BY    BRAND    WHITLOCK 

Author  of  "The   I3th  District,"   and   "Her  Infinite 
Variety" 

"  A  most  delightful  romance  that  is  as  fresh  as 
the  flowers  of  May.  « The  Happy  Average  '  will 
amply  repay  the  close  perusal  of  all  who  are  fond 
of  a  good  old-fashioned  love  story." 

Pittsburg  Leader 

"  <  The  Happy  Average  '  touches  the  chords 
that  are  most  certain  to  find  response  in  the  breasts 
of  the  great  majority  of  people. " 

Washington  Star 

ft  Mr.  Whitlock  is  equally  facile  in  describing 
the  mild  diversions  of  the  country  town  or  the 
kaleidoscopic  changes  of  Chicago,  handling  a  picnic 
and  a  railroad  strike  with  ease  and  sympathy." 

Philadelphia  Item 

Bound  in  cloth,  izmo,  $1.50 
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WANTED: 

A  COOK 


BY   ALAN    DALE 


An  uproariously  funny  comedy -novel  of  a  self- 
conscious  couple  in  contact  with  the  servant  cjues- 
tion.  Their  ludicrous  predicaments  with  their 
cooks  are  described  with  a  light,  farcial  quality  and 
a  satire  that  never  fail  to  entertain. 

"  A  good  story  well  told.  In  every  sentence  a 
hearty  laugh  and  many  an  irrepressible  chuckle  of 
mirth."  New  York  American 

Bound  in  decorated  cloth,  I  zmo,  $1.50 


The  Bobbs- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A  BOOK  TO  MAKE  THE  SPHINX  LAUGH 

IN  THE  BISHOP'S 
CARRIAGE 

BY  MIRIAM  MICHELSON 


i:rom  the  moment  when,  in  another  girl's  chin 
chilla  coat,  Nance  Olden  jumps  into  the  unknown 
carriage,  and,  snuggling  up  to  the  solemn  owner, 
calls  him  "Daddy,"  till  she  makes  her  final  bow, 
a  happy  wife  and  a  triumphant  actress,  she  holds 
your  fancy  captive  and  your  heart  in  thrall. 

If  jaded  novel  readers  want  a  new  sensation,  they 
will  get  it  here.  Chicago  Tribune 

For  genuine,  unaffected  enjoyment,  read  the  ad 
ventures  of  this  dashing  desperado  in  petticoats. 

Philadelphia  Item 

It  is  beguiling,  bewitching,  bristling  with  origi 
nality  ;  light  enough  for  the  laziest  invalid  to  rest  his 
brain  over,  profound  enough  to  serve  as  a  sermon 
to  the  humanitarian.  San  Francisco  Bulletin 

Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher 
i  zmo,  cloth,  price,  $1.50 


The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A  ROMANCE  OF   THE   DOLLAR   MARK 


THE  COST 


BY  DAVID  GRAHAM  PHILLIPS 

Author  of  Golden  Fleece 


A  masterly  novel,  interesting  to  the  point  of  fas 
cination,  analytic  to  the  point  of  keenness,  thor 
oughly  well  written  with  complete  understanding, 
and  entirely  committed  to  advocacy  of  the  best  things 
in  life.  Wallace  Rice  in  Chicago  Examiner 

Rapid  and  vivid,  sure  and  keen,  light  and  graceful. 

New  York  Times 

It  is  a  story  full  of  virile  impulse.  It  treats  of  men 
of  hardy  endeavor,  battling  for  leadership  in  the  world 
of  commerce  and  politics.  If  you  want  a  novel  that 
is  intensely  modern  and  intensely  full  of  speed  and 
spirit,  you  have  it  in  The  Cost. 

Bailey  Millard  in  San  Francisco  Examiner. 


With  sixteen  illustrations  by  Harrison  Fisher 
I  zmo,  cloth,  price,  $1.50 


The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


LOVE,    POLITICS    AND    PELF 

THE 

GRAFTERS 

BY  FRANCIS  LYNDE 

Author  of  The  Master  of  Appleby 


One  of  the  best  examples  of  a  new  and  distinctly- 
American  class  of  fiction — the  kind  which  finds  ro 
mance  and  even  sensational  excitement  in  business, 
politics,  finance  and  law.  The  Outlook 

Its  sweeping  sentences  fire  the  blood  like  new  wine. 

Boston  Post 

Telephone,  telegraph,  locomotive,  skirl,  click, 
thunder  through  the  pages  in  a  way  unprecedented 
in  fiction.  It  is  an  amazingly  modern  book. 

New  York  Times 

Virile,  with  the  rugged  strength  of  the  West,  The 
Grafters  is  like  the  current  of  a  deep  river,  vigorous 
and  forceful.  Louisville  Courier-Journal 

Illustrated  by  Arthur  I.  Keller 
I  zmo,  cloth,  price,  $1.50 


The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


ART     AND     ARIZONA 

A  GINGHAM 
ROSE 


BY  ALICE  WOODS  ULLMAN 

Author  of  Edges 


The  author  has  a  strange  power  of  looking  into 
the  workings  of  her  own  mind  and  heart,  and  of  setting 
down  what  she  finds  there  with  freedom,  humor  and 
justice.  The  result  is  '^something  new  under  the 
sun" — a  book  with  the  tang  of  originality.  Nothing 
could  be  more  refreshing  than  this  story  of  a  girl 
who  turned  a  cad  into  a  man  and  a  man  into  a  hero. 

Bizarre,  fantastic,  intensely  individual,  bright  and 
interesting,  with  characters  that  have  a  trick  of  saying 
and  doing  unexpected  things.  Washington  Times 

A  remarkable  book,  sustained  in  power  and  inter 
est,  strong  in  its  characterization  and  picturesque  in 
its  treatment  of  life.  It  is  human,  palpitating  with 
reality,  tensely  alive.  Harper's  Weekly 

Frontispiece  by  the  author 
I  zmo,  cloth,  price,  $1.50 


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